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TO SLEEP.

ELE GY.

Sleep! thou flatterer of happy minds,

How foon a troubled breast thy falsehood finds!
Thou common friend, officious in thy aid,
Where no diftress is shown, nor want betray'd:
But oh, how fwift, how fure thou art to fhun
The wretch, by fortune or by love undone !
Where are thy gentle dews, thy softer powers,
Which us'd to wait upon my midnight hours ?
Why doft thou cease thy hovering wings to spread,
With friendly fhade around my restless bed?
Can no complainings thy compassion move?
Is thy antipathy so strong to love!

O no! thou art the profperous lover's friend,
And doft uncall'd his pleafing toils attend.
With equal kindness, and with rival charms,
Thy flumbers lull him in his fair-one's arms;
Or from her bofom he to thine retires,

Where footh'd with ease the panting youth respires,
Till foft repose restore his drooping sense,
And Rapture is reliev'd by Indolence.
But oh, what fortune does the lover bear,
Forlorn by thee, and haunted by Despair!
From racking thoughts by no kind flumber freed,
But painful nights his joyless days fucceed.

But

But why, dull god, do I of thee complain?

Thou didst not cause, nor canft thou cafe my pain.
Forgive what my distracting grief has faid;

I own, unjustly I thy floth upbraid.

And my

For oft I have thy proffer'd aid repell'd,
reluctant eyes from reft with-held;
Implor'd the Mufe to break thy gentle chains,
And fung with Philomel my nightly strains.
With her I fing, but cease not with her fong,
For more enduring woes my days prolong.
The morning lark to mine accords his note,
And tunes to my distress his warbling throat :
Each setting and each rising fun I mourn,
Wailing alike his abfence and return.

And all for thee---what had I well-nigh faid?
Let me not name thee, thou too-charming maid
No---as the wing'd muficians of the grove,
Th' affociates of my melody and love,
In moving found alone relate their pain,
And not with voice articulate complain ;*
So fhall my Mufe my tuneful forrows fing,
And lofe in air her name from whom they fpring.
O may no wakeful thoughts her mind moleft,

Soft be her flumbers, and fincere her rest :

For her, O Sleep, thy balmy fweets prepare;

The peace I lofe for her, to her transfer.

Hufh'd as the falling dews, whofe noifelefs fhowers
Imperle the folded leaves of evening flowers,
Steal on her brow: and as thofe dews attend,

Till warn'd by waking day to re-ascend,

I

So

So wait thou for her morn; then, gently rife,
And to the world restore the day-break of her eyes.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

OCCASIONED BY L- Y-'s PICTURE.

Yield, O Kneller, to fuperior skill,

Thy pencil triumphs o'er the Poet's quill:
If yet my vanquish'd Muse exert her lays,
It is no more to rival thee, but praise.

Oft have I try'd, with unavailing care,
To trace fome image of the much-lov'd fair;
But ftill my numbers ineffectual prov'd,

And rather fhew'd how much, than whom, I lov'd:

But thy unerring hands, with matchlefs art,

Have fhewn my eyes th' impreffion in my heart;

The bright idea both exifts and lives,
Such vital heat thy genial pencil gives :
Whose daring point, not to the face confin'd,
Can penetrate the heart and paint the mind.
Others fome faint resemblance may express,

Which, as 'tis drawn by chance, we find by guess.
Thy pictures raise no doubts; when brought to view,
At once they're known, and seem to know us too.
Tranfcendent artift! how compleat thy fkill!
Thy power to act is equal to thy will.
Nature and art in thee alike contend,
Not to oppofe each other, but befriend :

For

For what thy fancy has with fire defign'd,
Is by thy skill both temper'd and refin’d.
As in thy pictures light confents with shade,
And each to other is fubfervient made;
Judgement and genius so concur in thee,
And both unite in perfect harmony.

But after-days, my friend, must do thee right,
And fet thy virtues in unenvy'd light.
Fame due to vast desert is kept in store,
Unpay'd, till the deferver is no more.

Yet thou, in prefent, the best part haft gain'd,
And from the chofen few applaufe obtain❜d :
Ev'n he who best could judge, and best could praise
Has high extoll'd thee in his deathlefs lays;
Ev'n Dryden has immortaliz'd thy name';
Let that alone fuffice thee, think that fame.
Unfit I follow where he led the way,
And court applause by what I seem to pay.
Myfelf I praise, while I thy praise intend,
For 'tis fome virtue, virtue to commend;
And next to deeds which our own honour raife,
Is to diftinguith them who merit praise.

TO A CANDLE.

E L E

G

Y.

THOU
HOU watchful taper, by whofe filent light
I lonely pafs the melancholy night;
Thou faithful witness of my fecret pain,
To whom alone I venture to complain;

O learn

O learn with me, my hopeless love to moan;
Commiferate a life fo like thy own.

Like thine, my flames to my destruction turn,
Wafting that heart by which supply'd they burn.
Like thine, my joy and fuffering they difplay;
At once are figns of life, and fymptoms of decay.
And as thy fearful flames the day decline,
And only during night presume to fhine;
Their humble rays not daring to aspire
Before the fun, the fountain of their fire :
So mine, with confcious fhame, and equal awe,
To fhades obfcure and folitude withdraw;
Nor dare their light before her eyes disclose,
From whofe bright beams their being first arose.

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