But whither am I borne? This thought of arms Fires me in vain to fing to senseless bulls What generous horfe fhould hear. Break off, my song; The martial trumpet, and the following age, To Mr. HENRY BENDYSH. DEAR SIR, Aug. 24. 1705, THE HE following fong was yours when first compofed: The Mufe then defcribed the general fate of mankind, that is, to be ill matched; and now fhe rejoices that you have efcaped the common mifchief, and that your foul has found its own mate. Let this ode then congratulate you both. Grow mutually in more compleat likeness and love: Perfevere, and be happy. I perfuade myself you will accept from the prefs what the pen more privately infcribed to you long ago; and I am in no pain left you should take offence at the fabulous drefs of this poem: Nor would weaker minds be fcandalized at it, if they would give themfelves leave to reflect how many divine truths are spoken by the holy writers in vifions and images, parables and dreams: Nor are my wifer friends afhamed to defend it, fince the narrative is grave and the moral so just and obvious. The Q3 THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. Sept. 3.1701. WHY fhould our joys transform to pain? Why gentle Hymen's filken chain Bendyfh, 'tis ftrange the charm that binds In vain I fought the wondrous cause, O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, On fancy's airy horse I ride, (Sweet rapture of my mind!) Till on the banks of Ganges flood, For facred ufe defign'd. Hard by, a venerable priest, Rifen with his God, the Sun, from reft, Awoke his morning fong; Thrice he conjur'd the murmuring stream; The birth of fouls was all his theme, And half-divine his tongue. "He "He fang th' eternal rolling flame, "But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames ; "The mighty power that form'd the mind "But parting from their warm abode "Happy the youth that finds the bride "But oh the crowds of wretched fouls Thus fang the wondrous Indian bard; While Ganges ceas'd to flow : "Sure then (I cry'd) might I but fee "Some courteous angel, tell me where, "Swift as the wheel of nature rolls THE HAPPY MA N. ERENE as light, is Myron's foul, SE And active as the fun, yet fteady as the pole: In manly beauty fhines his face; Every Mufe, and every Grace, Makes his heart and tongue their feat, His heart profufely good, his tongue divinely fweet. Myron, the wonder of our eyes, Behold his manhood fcarce begun! Behold the goal of glory won! Nor Fame denies the merit, nor with-holds the prize; Her filver trumpets his renown proclaim: The lands where learning never flew, Which neither Rome nor Athens knew, In barbarous fongs, pronounce the British hero's name. 7 "Airy "Airy blifs (the hero cry'd) "May feed the tympany of pride; "But healthy fouls were never found "To live on emptiness and found." Lo, at his honourable feet Fame's bright attendant, Wealth, appears ; Bleffings with lavish hand fhe pours Not Danae's lap could equal treasures boast, He look'd and turn'd his eyes away, Now Pomp and Grandeur court his head Guards, and chariots, at his gate, And flaves in endless order round his table wait: And now they fall, and now they rise, Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal, Tir'd with the train that Grandeur brings, Then, |