« ПредишнаНапред »
Just so, my heart-But seem Ah no!
While, loud with conquest and with wine,
His jolly troop around him reel'd along,
In this applaudiog song.
Bacchus, ever gay and young,
First did drinking joys ordain:
1. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
2. Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.
1. Rich the treasure!
2. Sweet the pleasure!
BOTH. Sweet is pleasure after pain !
Fir'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again,
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he
slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise,
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while hc Heaven and Earth defy'd,
He chose a mournful Muse,
Soft pity to infuse;
(pride, 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won
Then thus he chang'd his song, and check'd his
See Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fall'n from his high cstate:
Behold his flowing blood !
With got a friend to close his eyes,
With downoast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master sinil'd to see
That Love was in the next degree, Trembling the notes ascend the sky,
?Twas but a kindred sound to move:
For Pity melts the mind to Love.
Softly sweet in Lydian ineasures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;
WITH FLUTES. Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
War is toil and trouble, When he to fair Olympia press'd,
Honour is an airy bubble, And while he sought her snowy breast;
Never ending, still beginning, Then round her slender waist he cul'da,
Fighting still, and still destroying, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of
If the world be worth thy winning, the world.
Think, O think it, worth enjoying; The listening crowd adore the lofty sound,
Lovely Thais sits beside thee, A present deity, they shout around:
Take the good the gods provide thce.
The prince unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair,
Who caus'd his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:
At length, with Love and Wine at once oppressid,
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
1. Phæbus, patron of the lyre, Flush'd with a purple grace,
2. Cupid, god of soft desire, He shows his honest face;
frode, 1. Cupid, god of soft desire, As when, by tigers drawn, o'er India's plains le %. Phoebus, patron of the lyre,
1. and 2. How victorious are your charms! And thy bright eye is brighter far 1. Crown'd with conquest,
Than any planet, any star. 2. Full of glory,
Thy sordid way of life despise, 1. and 2. See a monarch fall’n before ye,
Above thy slavery, Silvia, rise;
And grow a goddess, or a queen.
CONSTANTIA, see, thy faithful slave
Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
From fond pursuing Love to fly.
Thy pity to my love iinpart,
Pity my bleeding aching heart,
Regard my sighs and flowing tears,
And with a smile remove my fears.
A wedded wife if thou would'st be,
By sac ed Hymen join'd to me,
Ere yet the western Sun decline,
My hand and heart shall both be thine,
Turice lov'd Constantia, heavenly fair,
For thee a servant's form I wear;
For thee, both wealth and birtb I scorn:
Trust me, fair maid, my constant fame
For ever will remain the same;
My love, that ne'er will cease, my love
Shall equal to thy beauty prove.
The princes applaud with a furious joy;
FROM PERSIAN VERSES. And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de. stroy;
ALLUDING TO THE CUSTOM OF WOMEN BEING WURIE) Thais led the way,
WITH THEIR HUSBANDS, AND MEN WITH THEIR To light him to his prey,
Eternal are the chains which here
The generous souls of lovers bind,
When Hymnen joins our banels, we swear
To be for ever true and kind;
And when, by Death, the fair are snatch'd away. Tinotheas, to his breathing flute,
Lest we our solemn vows should break,
In the same grave our living corpse we lay,
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
And added length to solemn sounds, [fore. My dearest spouse, that thou and I With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be- May shun the fear which first shall die,
Clasp'd in each other's arms we'll live,
Alike consum'd in Love's soft fire,
That neither may at last survive,
But gentle both at once expire.
She drew an angel down.
ON ARQUEÄNASSA OF COLOPHOS,
Within my breast a lover's fire;
Vajoly wrinkles all her face,
Charm my eyes with lasting grace :
But before old Time pursued her,
Masons, instead of " building houses," Ere he sunk these little cares,
To“ build the church,” would starve their spouses, How I pity those who view'd her,
And gladly leave their trades, for storming
The meeting houses or informing.
Rogues, that, like Falstaff, scarce know whether
A church's inside 's stone or leather,
Yet join the parsons and the people,
To cry “the church,”—but mean " the steeple.”
For your true sons, and such alone,
Then Heaven have mercy upon you,
ODE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD.
THE FRAGMENTS OF ORPHEUS.
Quid prius dicam solitis parentis
Qui mare & terras, variisque mundum
Temperat horis? 0 BLESSED time of reformation,
Unde nil majus generatur ipso; That's now beginning through the nation!
Nec viget quicquam simile, aut secundum.
INTRODUCTION TO THE FOLLOWING
That the praises of the Author of Nature, which As bigots give the sign about,
is the fittest subject for the sublime way of writing, They stretch their throats with hideous shout.
was the most ancient use of poetry, cannot be Black tinkers bawl aloud “ to settle
learned from a more proper instance (next to ex• Church privilege”-for “ mending kettle.”
amples of holy writ) than from the Greek fragEach sow-gelder that blows his horn,
ments of Orpheus; a relique of great antiquity : Cries out “ to have dissenters sworn."
they contain several verses concerning God, and The oyster-wenches lock their fish up,
his making and governing the universe; which, no presbyterian bishop!”
though imperfect, have many noble hints and The mouse-trap men lay save-alls by,
lofty expressions. Yet, whether these verses were And 'gainst “ low-church men” loudly cry;
indeed written by that celebrated father of poetry A creature of amphibious nature,
and music, who preceded Homer, or by OnomaThat trims betwixt the land and water,
critus, who lived about the time of Pisistratus, And leaves his mother in the lurch,
and only contain some of the doctrines of Ora To side with rebels 'gainst the church!
pheus, is a question of little use or importance. Some cry for “ penal laws," instead
A large paraphrase of these in French verse has Of“ pudding-pies, and gingerbread:”
been prefixed to the translation of Phocylides, but And some, for“ brooms, old boots, and shoes,"
in a flat style, much inferior to the design. The Roar out, “ God bless our commons' house !"
following ode, with many alterations and additions Some bawl “the votes" about the town,
proper to a modern poem, is attempted upon the And wish they'd “ vote dissenters down."
same model, in a language which, having stronger Instead of “ kitchen-stuff,” some cry,
sinews than the French, is, by the confession of “ Confound the late whig-ministry !"
their best critic, Rapin, more capable of sustainAnd some, for“ any chairs to mend,"
ing great subjects.
ODE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD,
O Must unfcicn'd! ( true celestial fire,
Brighter than that which rules the day, Blue-apron whores, that sit with furinety,
Descend! a mortal tongne inspire Rail at“ occasional conformity.”
To sing some great immortal lay! Instead of “ cucumbers to pickle,"
Begin, and strike aloud the consucrated lyre! Some cry aloud, “ no conventicle !"
Hence, ye profane! be far away!
Hence, all ye impious slaves, that bow
At one wide view his eye surveys To idol lusts, or altars raise,
His works, in every distant cline; And to false heroes give fantastic praise !
He shifts the seasons, months, and days, And hence, ye gods, who to a crime your spurious The short-liv'd otispring of revolving Time; beings owe!
By turns they die, by turns are born. Bat hear, O Heaven, and Earth, and Seas profound ! Now cheerful Spring the circle lends, Hear, ye fathom'd Deeps below,
And strows with flowers the smiling meads; And let your echoing vaults repeat the sound; Gay Summer next, whom russet robes adorn, Let Nature, trembling all around,
And waving fields of yellow corn; Attend her Master's awful name,
Then Autumn, who with lavish stores the lap of From whom Heaven, Earth, and Seas, and all the Nature spreads; wide Creation came.
Decrepit Winter, laggard in the dance,
(Like feeble Age oppress'd with pain) He spoke the great command; and Light,
A heavy season does maintain, Heaven's eldest-born and fairest child,
With driving snows, and winds, and rain ;
The sons of Morning, on the wing,
But who, thou great Ador'd! who can withstand When, from the unbounded vacuous space,
The terrours of thy lifted hand, A beauteous rising World they saw,
When, long provok'd, thy wrath awakes, When Nature show'd her yet unfinish'd face,
And conscious Nature to her centre shakes? And Motion took th' establish'd law
Rais'd by thy voice, the thunder flies, To roll the various globes on high;
Hurling pale Fear and wild Confusion round, When Time was taught his infant wings to try,
How dreadful is th' inimitable sound, And from the barrier sprung to his appointed
The shock of Earth and Seas, and labour of the
Then where's Ambition's haughty crest? Supreme, Almighty, still the same!
Where the gay head of wanton Pride? 'Tis he, the great inspiring Mind,
See! tyrants fall, and wish the opening ground, That animates and moves this universal frame,
Would take them quick to shades of rest, Present at once in all, and by no place contin'd. And in their common parent's breast, Not Heaven itself can bound his sway;
Froin thee, their bury'd forms for ever hide ! Beyond th' untravellid limits of the sky,
In vain—for all the elements conspire, javisible to mortal eye,
The shatter'd Farth, the rushing Sea, He dwells in uncreated day.
Tempestuous Air, and raging Fire, Without beginning, without end ; 'tis he
To punish vile mankind, and fight for thee; That fills th' unmeasur'd growing orb of vast im- Nor Death itself can intercept the blow, mensity.
Eternal is the guilt, and without end the woe. What power but his can rule the changeful Main, (Cyrus! Alexander! Julius! all And wake the sleeping Storm, or its loud rage re- Ye mighty Lords, that ever rul'd this ball! strain ?
Once gods of Earth, the living destinies, When Winds their gather'd forces try,
That made a hundred nations bow ! And the chaf'd Occan proudly swells in vain,
Where's your extent of empire now! His voice reclaims th' impetuous roar;
Say, where preserv'd your phantom Glory lies! In murmuring tides th'abated billows tly,
Can brass the tieeting thing secure? And the spent tempest dies upon the shore.
Enshrin'd in temples does it stay? The meteor world is his, Heaven's wintry store, Or in huge amphitheatres endure The moulded hail, the feather'd snow;
The rage of rolling Time, and scorn decay? The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower, Ah, no! the mouldering inonuments of Fame The loose divided cloud, and many-colour'd bow; Your vain deluded hopes betray, The crooked lightning darts around,
Nor show th' ambitious founder's name, His sorcreign orders to fulfil;
Mix'd with yourselves in the same mass of clay. The shooting Aame obeys th’ Eternal will,
Launch'd from his hand, instructed where to kill, Procced, my Muse! Tiine's wasting thread pursue, Or rive the mountain oak, or blast th' unshelter'd
And see, at last, th' unraveild clue,
When cities sink, and kingdoms are no more, ground.
And weary Nature shall her work give o'cr. Yet, pleas'd to bless, indulgent to supply,
Behold th' Almighty Judge on high! He, with a father's tender care,
See in his hand the book of Fate! Supports the numerous family
Myriads of spirits fill the sky That peoples earth, and sea, and air.
T'attend, with dread solemnity, From Nature's giant race, th' enormous clephant, The World's last scene, and Time's concluding Down to the insect worm and creeping ant;
date. From th' eagle, sovereign of the sky,
The feeble race of short-liv'd Vanity, To each inferior feather'd broodl;
And sickly Pomj), at once shall die! From crowns and purple majesty,
Foul Guilt to midnight caves will shrink away, To humble shepherds on the plain,
Look back, and tremble in her light, His hand upseen, divieles to all their food,
And curse at Heaven's pursuing light, And the whole world of life sustains.
Surrounded with the vengeance of that day.
How will yon then, ye impious, 'scă pe your doom, When thrice six hundred times the circling Sun Self-judy'd, abandon'd, overcome?
His annual race shall through the Zodiac rupi Your clouds of painted bliss shall melt before your An isle remote his monument shall rear, sight.
And every generous Briton pay a tear.”
Nor hope more solid bliss t'obtain,
ADVICE TO MR. POPE,
1714. But see where the mild Sorereign sits prepard His better subjects to reward!
O Thou, who with a happy gerius born, Where am I now! what power divine
Canst tuneful verse in towing numbers turn, Transports me! what immortal splendours shine! Crown'd on thy Windsor's plains with early bays,
Torrents of glory that oppress the sight! Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise. What joys, celestial King! thy throne surround! Blind was the bard that surig Achilles' rage, 'The Sun, who, with thy borrow'd beams so bright,
lle sung, and begy'd, and curs'd th' ungiving age: Sees not his peer in all the starry round,
If Britain his translated song would hear, Would here, diminish'd, fade away,
First take the gold-then charm the listening car ; Like his pale sister of the night,
So shall thy father Homer smile to see When she resigns her delegated light,
His pension paid-though late, and paid to thee. Lost in the blaze of day. Here wonder only can take place;
Then, Muse, th' adventurous fight forbear! These mystic scenes thou canst no farther trace; Hope may some boundless future bliss çmbrace,
THE MEMORY OF MILTON. But what, or when, or how, or where,
HOMER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF, UNDER THE CIA Are mazes all, which Fancy runs in vain;
RACTER OF DEMODOCHUS THE MUSICIAN, AT Nor can the narrow cells of human brain The vast immeasurable thought contain.
FROM THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEYS.
His various lot, she blendid good with ill;
Depriv'd him of his eyes, but did in part
FEAST OF KING ALCINOU'S.
ON HIS TRAGEDY OP CATO.
WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO.
Thouch Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
TO A LADY,
Two shining maids this happy work displays; By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,
Each moves our rapture, both divide our praise; And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;
In Marcia, we her godlike father trace; We hear his voice, asserting Virtue's cause;
While Lucia triumphs with each softer grace. His fate, renew'd, our deep attention draws,
One strikes with awe, and one gives chaste delight: Excites, by turns, our various hopes and fears,
That bright as lightning, this serene as light. And all the patriot in thy scene appears.
Yet by the Muse the shadow'd forins were wrought,
And both are creatures of the poet's thought. On Tyber's bank thy thought was first inspir'd;
In her that animates these lines, we view 'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retird,
The wonder greater, the description true; Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Each ljving virtue, every grace combind, Thy happy Muse this manly work design'd:
And Marcia's worth with Lucia's sweetness joind. Or, in a dream, thou saw'st Rome's genius stand,
Had she been born allv'd to Cato's name,
Numidia's prince had felt a real fame;
And pouring his resistless troops from far,
With bolder deeds had turn’d the doubtful war; 'Tis done the hero lives and charms our age! Casar had fled before his conquering arms, While nobler morals grace the British stage. And Roman Muses sung her beauty's charms. Great Shakespeare's ghost, the solemu strain to
PROMISCUOUS crowds to worthless riches born, Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,
Thy pencil paints, 'tis true, yet paints with scorn That sure the Sibyls books this year foretold, Sometimes the fool, by Nature left half-made, And in some mystic leaf was found enrollid, Mov'd by some happy instinct, asks thy aid, “ Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, To give his face to reason some pretence, Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore ! And raise his looks with supplemental sepse.