Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he Sweet the pleasure; Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ; And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise: He sung Darius great and good, With downcast look the joyless victor fate, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smil'd to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Never ending, still beginning, Take the good the gods provide thee, Who caus'd his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Now strike the golden lyre again; And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. Ere heavenly bellows learnt to blow, Timotheus to his breathing flute And sounding lyre [sire Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft de. The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, He rais'd a mortal to the skies, $ 100. An Epistle from Mr. Phillips to the Earl of Dorset. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709. FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, From streams that northern winds forbid to flow. What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, Ere Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds begun thro' hazy skies to blow, At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose ; And the descending rain unsullied froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view The face of nature, in a rich disguise, And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes: For ev'ry shrub, and ev'ry blade of grass, And ev'ry pointed thorn,scem'd wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the haw thorns show, While thro' the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick-sprung reeds the wai'ry marshes yield Seem polish'd lances in a hostile field. The flag, in limpid currents, with surprise Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise. The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine." The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, That wave and glitter in the distant sun, When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies: The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends; Or, if a southern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller a miry country sees, And journey sad beneath the dropping trees. Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads; While here enchanting gardens to him rise, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue; And, while he thinks the fair illusion true, The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear, A tedious road the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns. § 101. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE. AH! what avails the lengthening mead, That glads the midnight hours! See how the sturdy peasants stride. She visits oft the hamlet cot, But see or is it Fancy's dream? The jocund train advance: Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven, And And slackens still the reins. Ten thousand beauties round me throng; To the distemper'd soul? With groans the waters roll. Ye were for misery made.-- Come then, some Muse, the saddest of the train (No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays) Teach me each moving melancholy strain, And oh discard the pageantry of phrase: Ill suits the flow'rs of speech with woes like mine! Thus, haply, as I paint The source of iny complaint, My soul may own th' impassion'd line: A Hood of tears may gush to my relief, [of grief. And from my swelling heart discharge this load Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear To wound my cars with the sad tales you tell; "How good she was, how gentle, and how fair!" In pity cease-alas! I know too well How in her sweet expressive face Bean'd forth the beauties of her mind, Yet heighten'd by exterior grace, Of manners most engaging, most refin'd! No piteous object could she see, But her soft bosom shar'd the woe, Endear'd whatever boon she might bestow. Still shone conspicuous in her eyes, Alike to feign or to disguise: And, oh the boast how rare! The secret in her faithful breast repos'd She ne'er with lawless tongue disclos'd, In secret silence lodg'd inviolate there. Oh feeble words-unable to express Her matchless virtues, or my own distress! Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe, With murd'rous hands deals havoc on mankind. But, ah ! in vain-no change of time or [place Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air, Now lost; and nought remains but anguish and despair. Where were the delegates of Heav'n, oh where Had Innocence or Virtue been their care, Appointed Virtue's children safe to keep? She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep: How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour, "ear; "If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain, "Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune "smil'd in vain ; "If it has been my sole endeavour still " To act in all obsequious to thy will; "To watch thy very similes, thy wish to know, "Then only truly blest when thou wert so; "If I have doated with that fond excess, "Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less; "If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind "To the dear lovely babe I leave behind. "When time my once-lov'd memory shall efface, "Some happier maid may take thy Emma's "place, "With envious eyes thy partial fondness see, "And hate it, for the love thou bor'st to me: My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears; "But one word more I cannot bear thy tears"Promise and I will trust thy faithful vow "(Oft have I tried, and never found thee true) That to some distant spot thou wilt remove This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love, 'Where safe thy blandishments it may partake, "And, oh! be tender, for its mother's sake. "Wilt thou?--- Why (cruel!) strike this deprecated blow, The sons of grief prefer their ardent vow, " "I know thou wilt-sad silence speaks assent, And, in that pleasing hope, thy Emma dies "'content." In vain perverse, still on th' unweeting head" [day I, who with more than manly strength have bore When the stern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes, To show that all the flatt'ring schemes of joy, Nor let thy Enima die in vain : Droops the sweet mourner-but ere long Prunes its light wings, and pecks its foud, And meditates the song: Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case, And with its plaintive warblings saddens all the place. Forgiveme, Heaven,—yet, yet the tears will flow, Again with transport hear Her voice soft whispering in my ear; May steal once more a balmy kiss, And taste at least of visionary bliss. But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light Will all my shadowy schemes of bliss depose, Will tear the dear illusion from my sight, And wake me to the sense of all my woes: If to the verdant fields I stray. Alas! what pleasures now can these convey? Her lovely form pursues where'er I go, And darkens all the scene with woe. By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more, Sorrowing I rove Through valley, grot, and grove; Nought can their beauties or my loss restore; No herb, no plant, can ined'cine my disease, And my sad sighs are borne on ev'ry passing my bed, breeze. Sickness and sorrow hov'ring round Who now with anxious haste shall bring relief, With lenient hand support my drooping head, 1 Assuage my pains, and mitigate my grief? Should worldly business call away, Who now shall in my absence fondly mourn, Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day, Impatient for my quick return? Should ought my bosom discompose, Who now, with sweet complacent air, Shall smooth the rugged brow of Care, And soften all my woes? Too faithful Memory cease, oh cease — How shall l'e'er regain my peace? (Oh, to forget her!)-but how vain each art, Whilst ev'ry virtue lives imprinted on my heart! And thou, my little cherub, left behind, To hear a father's plaints, to share his woes, When reason's dawn informs thy infant mind, And thy sweet lisping tongue shall askthecause, How oft with sorrow shall mine eyes run o'er,] When, twining round my knees, I trace Thy mothers smile upon thy face! How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore Sad memory of my joys-ah, now no more! By blessings once enjoy'd now more distress'd, More beggar by the riches once possess'd, My little darling! - dearer to me grown to hear! By all the tears thou'st caus'doh, strange Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own, Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier : Who now shall seek, with fond delight, Thy infant steps to guide aright? She, who with doating eyes would gaze On all thy little artless ways, By all thy soft endearments blest, And clasp thee oft with transport to her breast Alas! is gone yet shalt thou prove A father's dearest, tenderest love; And, O sweet senseless smiler, (envied state!) As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate, ♥ Laudanum, When 12 When years thy judgement shall mature, Wilt thou a father's grief t' assuage, When sick and languishing I lie, And oft as to thy listening ear Say wilt thou drop the tender tear, Whene'er thou seest the soft distress, Say, wilt thou strive to make it less? SWEET bird! that, kindly perching near, Thanks for thy sorrow-soothing strain: That oft enamour'd on thy strains has hung? Bereft thee of thy darling young? Alas! for both I weep: In all the pride of youthful charms, The flattering prop of my declining years! By ev'ry art that science could devise; To shun the noisy paths of wealth and fame, But why, alas! to thee complain, The genial warmth of joy renewing spring Again shall flow thy notes responsive to thy But, oh! for me in vain may seasons roll, [love. Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears: Deploring still the comfort of my soul, I count my sorrows by increasing years. : Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, say, Where is thy promis'd period of my woes? Full three long ling'ring years have roll'd away, And yet I weep a stranger to repose: O what delusion did thy tongue employ! "That Emma's fatal pledge of love, "Her last bequest, with all a mother's care, "The bitterness of sorrow should remove, "Soften the horrors of despair, "And cheer a heart long lost to joy!" How oft, when fondling in my arms, Gazing enraptur'd on its angel-face, My soul the maze of Fate would vainly trace, And my full heart could bear, nor tongue could utter more. "Just Heaven!" I cried, with recent hopes elate, 66 Will want a father's care; "Her looks, her wants, my rash resolves recal, "And, for her sake, the ills of life I'll bear: "And oft together we 'll complain, 66 Complaint the only bliss my soul can know: "From me my child shall learn the mournful "strain, "And prattle tales of woe. "And, oh! in that auspicious hour, "And opes a glorious passage to the skies." And vengeance can no more. And none none left to bear a friendly part! Or sooth the anguish of an aching heart! Now all one gloomy scene, till welcome death, With lenient hand (oh falsely deeni'd severe), Shall kindly stop my grief-exhausted breath, And dry up ev'ry tear. Perhaps, obsequious to my will, But ah! from my affections far remov'd! As if unconscious of poetic fire, I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre: In piteous accents shall the muse complain, For |