No pomps like these my humble vows require;
With thee I'll live, and in thy arms expire.
Thee may my closing eyes in death behold!
Thee may my faultering hand yet ftrive to hold!
Then, Delia, then, thy heart will melt in woe,
Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow;
Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind,
Nor doft thou think it weakness to be kind.
But, alr! fair mourner, I conjure thee, spare
Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevel'd hair :
Wound not thy form; left on th' Elysian coast
Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost.

But now nor death nor parting fhould employ
Our fprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy:
We'll live, my Delia; and from life remove
All care, all business, but delightful Love.
Old age in vain those pieasures would retrieve,
Which youth alone can taste, alone can give;
Then let us fnatch the moment to be bleft,
This hour is Love's-be Fortune's all the rest.

SAY

SO N G.

Written in the Year 1732.

I.

AY, Myra, why is gentle Love
A stranger to that mind,

Which Pity and Esteem can move;

Which can be just and kind?

II.

Is it, because you fear to share
The ills that Love moleft;

The jealous doubt, the tender care,
That rack the amorous breast?

III.

Alas! by fome degree of woe

We every blifs must gain:

The heart can ne'er a transport know,

That never feels a pain.

VERSES,

Written at Mr. POPE's Houfe at Twickenham,

which he had lent to Mrs. GREVILLE.

In Auguft, 1735.

I.

O, Thames, and tell the bufy town,

Go

Ꮐ Not all its wealth or pride

Could tempt me from the charms that crown
Thy rural flowery fide:

II.

Thy flowery fide, where Pope has plac'd

The Mufes' green retreat,

With every fmile of Nature grac'd,.

With every art complete.

III.

But now, fweet Bard, thy heavenly song
Enchants us here no more;
Their darling glory loft too long
Thy once-lov'd fhades deplore.

IV.

Yet ftill, for beauteous Greville's fake,
The Mufes here remain;

Greville, whofe eyes have power to make
A Pope of every fwain.

N

EPIGRAM.

ONE without hope c'er lov'd the brightest fair:
But Love can hope, where Reafon would defpair.

To Mr. WEST, at WICKHAM *.

F

Written in the Year 1740.

AIR Nature's fweet fimplicity,

With elegance refin'd,

Well in thy feat, my friend, I fee,

But better in thy mind.

To both, from courts and all their state,

Eager I fly, to prove

Joys far above a Courtier's fate,

Tranquillity and Love.

See the Infcriptions in Mr. Weft's Poems.

Το

TO MISS LUCY FORTESCUE.

ONCE, by the Mafe alone infpir'd

I fung my amorous strains :

No ferious love my bosom fir'd;
Yet every tender maid, deceiv'd,
The idly-mournful tale believ'd,
And wept my fancied pains.

But Venus now, to punish me
For having feign'd fo well,
Has made my heart so fond of thee,
That not the whole Aonian choir
Can accents foft enough infpire,
Its real flame to tell.

TO THE SAME;

WITH

HAMMON D'S ELEGIES.

Α'

LL that of Love can be exprefs'd,

In these foft numbers fee;

But, Lucy, would you know the rest,

It must be read in me.

To

TO THE SAME.

O him who in an hour muft die,
Not swifter feems that hour to fly,
Than flow the minutes feem to me,
Which keep me from the fight of thee.

Not more that trembling wretch would give,
Another day or year to live;

Than I to fhorten what remains

Of that long hour which thee detains.

Oh! come to my impatient arms,

Oh! come, with all thy heavenly charms,

At once to justify and pay

The pain I feel from this delay.

T

TO THE SAME,

I:

10 cafe troubled mind of anxious care,
my

Laft night the fecret cafket I explor'd,

Where all the letters of my abfent fair

In

(His richest treasure) careful Love had ftor'd:

II.

every word a magic spell I found
Of power to charm each busy thought to reft;
Though every word increas'd the tender wound
Qf fond defire till throbbing in my breaft.

III. Sa.