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THI

HE happy Mufe, to this high scene preferrd,

Hereafter shall in loftier strains be heard : And, foaring to transcend her usual theme, Shall sing of virtue and heroic fame. No longer shall she toil upon the stage, And fruitless war with vice and folly wage ; No more in mean disguise she shall appear, And shapes she would reform be forc'd to wear : While ignorance and malice join to blame, And break the mirror that reflects their shame. Henceforth he shall pursue a nobler task, Shew her bright virgin face, and fcorn the Satyr's mask. Happy her future days! which are design'd Alone to paint the beauties of the mind. By just originals to draw with care, And copy

from the court a faultless fair :
Such labour's with success her hopes may crown,
And shame to manners an incorrigible town.

While this design her eager thoughts pursues,
Such various virtues all around the views,
She knows not where to fix, or which to chuse.
Yet, still ambitious of the daring flight,
ONE only awes her with superior light.

Fron

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From that attempt the conscious Muie retires,
Nor to inimitable worth aspires :
But secretly applauds, and filently admires,

Hence she reflects upon the genial ray
That first enliven'd this auspicious day :
On that bright star, to whose indulgent power
We owe the blessings of the present hour.
Concurring omens of propitious fate

I
Bore, with one sacred birth, an equal date ;
Whence we derive whatever we possess,
By foreign conquest, or domestic peace.

Then, Britain, then thy dawn of bliss begun :
Then broke the morn that lighted-up this fun!
Then was it doom'd whose councils should fucceed ;
And by whose arm the christian world be freed;
Then the fierce foe was pre-ordain’d to yield,
And then the battle won at Blenheim's glorious field.

THE

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Inscribed to the Right Hon. the Lord GODOLPHIN,

Lord High-Treasurer of England,

Qualis populeâ mærens Philomela sub umbrâ
“ Amissos queritur fætus --

miferabile Carmen
Integrat, & mæstis latè loca questibus implet."

VIRG. Geor. 4.

66

'T WAS

WAS at the time, when new-returning light

With welcome rays begins to chear the sight;
When grateful birds prepare their thanks to pay,
And warble hymns to hail the dawning day ;
When woolly flocks their bleating cries renew,
And from their fleecy sides first shake the filver dew.

'Twas then that Amaryllis, heavenly fair,
Wounded with grief, and wild with her despair,

Forsook

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Forsook her myrtle bower and rosy bed,
To tell the winds her woes, and mourn Amyntas dead.
Who had a heart so hard, that heard her cries
And did not weep? who such relentless eyes ? :
Tigers and wolves their wonted rage forego,
And dumb distress and new compassion show ;
As taught by her to taste of human woe.
Nature herself attentive filence kept,
And motion seem'd suspended while she wept;
The rising sun restrain’d his fiery course,
And rapid rivers listend at their source ;
Ev'n Echo fear’d to catch the flying found,
Left repetition should her accents drown;
The very morning-wind with-held his breeze,
Nor fann'd with fragrant wings the noiseless trees ;
As if the gentle Zephyr had been dead,
And in the grave with lov'd Amyntas laid.
No noise, no whispering sigh, no murmuring groan,
Presum'd to mingle with a mother's moan;
Her cries alone her anguish could express,
All other mourning would have made it lefs.

“ Hear me," she cried, " ye nymphs and sylvan gods, “ Inhabitants of these once-lov'd abodes; “ Hear my distress, and lend a pitying car, “ Hear my complaint---you would not ear my prayer; “ The loss which you prevented not, deplore, • And mourn with me Amyntas now no more.

“ Have I not cause, ye cruel powers, to mourn ? # Lives there like me another wretch forlorn;

4

« Tell

“ Tell me, thou sun that round the world doft shine, “ Hast thou beheld another lofs like mine? “ Ye winds, who on your wings fad accents bear, “And catch the sounds of sorrow and despair, Tell me if e'er your tender pinions bore “ Such weight of woe, such deadly sighs, before ?

Tell me, thou earth, on whose wide-fpreading base “ The wretched load is laid of human race, “ Doft thou not feel thyself with me opprest? “ Lie all the dead fo heavy on thy breast ? " When hoary winter on thy shrinking head “ His icy, cold, depressing hand has laid, “ Haft thou not felt less chillness in thy veins ? “ Do I not pierce thee with more freezing pains ? “ But why to thee do I relate my woe, “ Thou cruel earth, my most remorseless foe, “ Within whofe darksome womb the grave is made, “ Where all my joys are with Amyntas laid ? “What is ’t to me, though on thy naked head “ Eternal winter should his horror shed, Though all thy nerves are numb’d with endless frost, " And all thy hopes of future spring were lost? “ To me what comfort can the spring afford ? “ Can my Amyntas be with spring restor'd ? “ Can all the rains that fall from weeping skies, “ Unlock the tomb where my Amyntas lies ?

No, never ! never !---Say then, rigid earth, "What is to me thy everlasting dearth?

Though never flower again its head should rear, “Though never tree again should blossom bear,

“Though

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