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PO E M S.

yog As toughest trees in ftorms are bred,

Queen of the night, bright empress of the stars, And grow in spite of winds, and spread

The friend of love, asli: a lover's cares; 'The more the tempeft tears and Ibakcs

And thou, infernal Hecate, be nigh, My love, the deeper root it takes.

At whose approach fierce wolves affrighted fy:

Dark tombs disclose their dead, and hollow cries Despair, that aconite does prove,

Echo from under ground-Arise, arise. And certain death to others love;

Begin, begio, the nuystic spells prepare, That poison, never yet with tood,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer: Does nourish mine, and turns to food.

As crackling in the fire this laurel lies, 0! for what crime is my torn heart

So, struggling in love's flame, her lover dies; Condemn'd to suffer deathless smart?

It bursts, and in a blaze of light expires, Like sad Prometheus, thus to lie

So may fhe burn, but with more lalting fires. lo qadless pain, and never die.

Begin, begin, the mystic speils prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.

As the wax melts, which to the flame I hold, PHYLLIS DRINKING.

So may the mele, and never more grow cold.

Tough iron will yield, and stubborn marble run, WHILE' Phillis is drinking, love and wine in And hardest hearts by love are melted down. alliance,

Begin, begin, the mstyic spells prepare, With forces united, bid refiftless defiance ;

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. By the touch of her lips the wine sparkles higher, As with impetuous motion whirling round, And her eyes, by her drinking, redouble their fire. This magic wheel ftill moves, yet keeps its ground,

Ever returning, so may the come back, Her cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their

And never more the appointed round forsake, colour,

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare, As fowers by sprinkling revive with fresh odour;

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. Each dart dip'd in wine, gives a wound beyond Diana, hail! all hail! moit welcome thou, curiog,

(enduring. To whom th' infernal king and judges bow; And the liquor, like oil, makes the flame more

O thou, whose art the power of hell disarms, Then Phyllis, begin, let our raptures abound,

Upon a faithless woman try thy charms. And a kiss, and a glass, be still going round,

Hark! the dogs howl, the comes, the goddess Relieving each other, our pleasures are lasting,

comés, And we never are cloy'd, yet are ever a-tafting.

Sound the loud trump, and beat our brazen drums.

Begin, bėgio, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
TO MYRA.

How calm's the sky! how undisturb’d the deep!

Nature is hush'd, che very tempests fleep; Prepar'o to rail, resolv'd to part,

The drowsy winds breathe gently through the When I approach'd the perjur'd fair, What is it awes my timorous heart?

And filent on the beach, repose the seas : Why does my tongue forbear?

Love only wakes; the storm that cears my breast

For ever rages, and distracts my rest : With the least glance, a little kind,

O love! relentless love! tyrant accurs'd, Such wond'rous pow'r have Myra's charms, In desarts bred, by cruel tygers nurs'd! She calms my doubts, enslaves my mind,

Begin, begin, the myitic spells prepare, And all my rage disarms.

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. Forgetful of her broken vows,

This ribbon, that once bound her lovely waitt, When gazing on that form divine,

O that my arms might gird her there as fast ! Her injur'd vassal trembling bows,

Smiling she gave it, and I priz'd it more
Nor dares her fave repine.

Than the rich zone the Idalian goddess wore :
This ribbon, this lov'd relick of the fair,

So kiss'd, and so preserv'dmthus thus I tear.
THE ENCHANTMENT.

O love! why dost thou thus delight to read

My soul with pain ? ah! why torment thy friend? IN IMITATION OTHEOCRITUS.

Begin, begin, the mystic 1pells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer, Mix, mix the philters, quick--the flies, the flies, Thrice have I sacrific'd, and proftrate thrice Deaf to my call, regardless of

Ador'd: aflift, ye powers, the sacrifice. Are vows fo vain ? could oaths so feeble prove ? Whoe'er he is whoin now the fair beguiles Ab!' with what ease the breaks those chains of With guilty glances, and with perjur'd smiles, love!

Malignant vapours blaft his impious head, Whom love with all his force had bound in vain, Ye lightnings scorch him, thunder strike him Let charnis compel, and magic rites regain.

dead; Begin, begin, the niystic spells prepare,

Horror of conscience all his Bumbers break, Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer, Dittract his reft, as love keeps me awake;

Y y iij

trees,

my cries.

If married, may his wife an Helen be,

Tell, for you know the burden of niy heart, And, curs't, and scorn'd, like Menelaus, he.

Its killing anguish, and its secret snart. Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Soon she divin'd what this confusion meant, Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. And guess'd with ease the caufe of my complaint. These powerful drops, thrice on the threshold pour, My torgue emboldening as her looks were mild, And bathe with this enchanted juice, her door, At length I told my griefs and still she smil'd. That door where no‘admittance now is found, O syren! fyren ! fair deluder, say, But where my soul is ever hovering rourid. Why would you tempt to trust, and then betray? Haste, and obey; and binding bc the spell : So faithless now, why gave you hopes before? Here ends my charm; O love! fucceed it well: Alas! you should have been less kind, or more. By force of magic, stop the flying fair,

Tell, for you know the burden of my heart, Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart. Thou'rt now alone; and painful is restraint, Secure of innocence, I seek to know Ease thy prest heart, and give thy sorrows vent; From whence this change, and my misfortunes Whence sprang, and how began these griefs de

grow, clare;

Rumour is loud, and every voice proclaims
How much thy love, how cruel thy despair. Her violated faith, and conscious flames :
Ye moon and stars, by whose auspicious light Can this be true? ah! flattering 'mischief speak;
I haunt these groves, and waste the tedious night! Could you make vows, and in a moment break?'

Tell, for you know the burden of my heart, And can the space so very narrow be
Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

Betwixt a wciraan's oath, and perjury?
Too late for hope, for my repose too soon

O jealousy! all other ills at first i law, and lov'd: her heart engag'd, was gone; My love essay'd, but thou art sure the worst. A happier man possess’d whom I adore ;

Tell, for you know the burden of my heart,

, O! I should ne'er have seen, or seen before.

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart. Tell, for you know the burden of my heart, Ungrateful Myra! urge me thus no more, Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

Nor think me tame, that once fo long I bore; What shall I do? shall I in silence bear,

If passion, dire revenge, or black despair, Destroy myself, or kill the ravisher?

Should once prevail beyond what inan can bear, Die, wretched lover, die! but o! beware, Who knows what I ? ah! fceble rage, and vain! Hurt not the man who is belov'd by her;

With how fecure a brow she mocks my pain : Wait for a better hour, and trust thy fate,

Thy heart, fond lover, does thy threats belie, Thou seek’lt her love, beget not then her hace. Canst thou hurt her, for whom thou yet would Tell, for you know the burden of

my
heart,

die? It's killing anguilh, and its secret smart.

Nor durft she thus thy just resentment brave, My lise consuming with eternal grief,

But that she knows how much thy soul's her flave. From herbs, and spells, I seek a vain relief;

But see! Aurora rising with the fun, To every wise magician I repair

Diffolves my charm, and frees th'enchanted moon; In vain, for ftill I love, and I despair.

My spells no longer bind at sight of day, Circe, Medea, and the Cybil's books,

And young Endymion calls his love away: Contain not half th' enchantment of her looks. Love's the reward of all, on earth, in heaven,

Tell, for you know the burden of my heart, And for a plague to me alane was given:
Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

But ills not to be fhunn'd, we must endure,
As melted gold preserves its weight the same, Death, and a broken heart's a ready cure.
So burn'd my Inve, nor wasted in the flame. Cynthia, farewell, go rest thy wearied light,
And now, unable to support the strife,

I must for ever wake. We'll meet again at night
A glimmering hope recalls departing life :
My rival dying, I no longer grieve,
Since I may ask, and she with honour give.

THE VISION.
Tell, for you know the burden of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

In lonely walks, distracted by despair,
Wirness, ye hours, with what unwearied care, Shunning mankind, and torn with killing care,
From place to place I still pursu'd the fair; My eyes o'crflowing, and my frantic mind
Nor was occasion to reveal my flame,

Rack'd with wild thoughts, swelling 'with sighs Slow to my succour, for it kindly came;

the wind; It came, it came, that moment of delight,

Through paths untrodden, day and night I rove, O gods! and how I trembled at the fight! Mourning the fate of my successless love.

Tell, for you know the burden of my heart, Who most desire to live, untimely fall,
Its killing anguish, and its secret fmart.

But when we beg to die, death flies our call; Dismay'd, and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd, Adonis dies, and torn is the loy'd breast Trembling I stood, and terrify'd I gaz'd;

In midst of joy, where Venus wont to reft; My faultering tongue in vain for utterance try'd, That fate, which cruel seem'd to him, would be Faint was my voice, my thoughts abortive dy'd, Pity, relief, and happiness to me. Or in weak sounds, and broken accents came, When will my sorrows end? in vain, in vain Imperfect, as discourses in a dreang:

I call to heaven, and cell che gods my painz

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POE M S.

711 The gods averse, like Myra, to my prayer, Venus, thc fairest of inmortal loves, Consent to doom, whom she denies to spare. Bright as my beans, and gentle as her doves, Why do I seek for foreign aids, when I

With glowing eyes, confeffing warm desires, Bear ready by my side the power to die?

She summons heaven and earth to quench her fires, Bc keen, my sword, and serve thy master well, Me she excludes; and I in vain adore, Heal wounds with wounds, and love with death Who neither god nor man refus'd before; repel.

Vulcan, the very moniter of the skies, Straight up I rose, apd to my aking breast, Vulcan fhe takes, the god of wit denies. My bosom bare, the ready point I prett;

Then cease to murmur at thy Myra's pride, When lo! astonish'd, an unusual light

Whimsy, not reason, is the female guide: Pierc'd the thick shade, and all around grew The fate, of which their master dues complain, bright;

Is of bad omen to th' inspired train. My dazzled eyes a radiant form behold,

What vows have fail'd? Hark how Catullus Splendid with light, like beams of burning gold;

njourns, Eternal rays his shining temples grace;

How @vid weeps, and flighted Gallus burns; Eternal youth fat blooming on his face.

In melting strains fee gentle Waller bleed, Trembling I listen, prostrate on the ground, Unmou'd the heard, what none unmor'd cap read. His breath perfumes the grove, and music's in the And thou, who oft with such ambitious choice,

Hast rais'd to Myra thy aspiring voice, Cease, lover, cease, thy tender heart to ver, What profit thy neglected zeal repays ? In fruitless plaints of an ungrateful sex.

Ah what return? Ungrateful to thy praise ? In fate's eternal volumes it is writ,

Change, change thy Ityle, with morca! rage re. That wouen ever shall be foes to wit.

turn
With proper arts their fickly minds command, Unjust disdain, and pride oppose to scorn;
And please 'em with the things they understand; Search all the secrets of the fair and young,
With poisy fopperies their hearts affail,

And then proclaim, foon shall they bribe thy Renounce all sense; how should thy fongs pre

tongue; vail !

The sharp detractor with success afsails, When I, the God of wit, so oft could fail?

Sure to be gentle to the man that rails; Remember me, and in my story find

Women, like cowards, came to the severe, How vainly merit pleads to womankind :

Are only fierce when they discover fear. I, by whom all things shine, who tune the spheres, Thus fpake che god; and upward mounts in air, Create the day, and gild the night with stars; In just resentment of his past despair. Whose youth and beauty, from all ages past, [last. Provok'd to vengeance, to my aid I call Sprang with the world, and with the world shall The furies round, and dip my pen in gall : How oft with fruitless tears have I implor'd Nit one shall 'scape of all the cozening sex, Ungrateful nymphs, and though a god, ador'd ? Ver'd mall they be, who fo delight to vex. When could my wit, my beauty, or my youth, In vain I cry, in vain to vengeance move Move a hard heart? or, mov'd, fecure its truth? My gentle muse, so us'd to tender love;

Here a proud nymph, with painful steps I chase, Such magic rules my heart, whate'er I write The winds out-flying in our nimble race;

Turns all to foft complaint, and anorous flight. Stay, Daphne, ftay ---In vain, in vain I try

Begone, fond thoughts, begone, be bold, said I, To ttop her speed, redoubling at my cry,

Satire's thy thenie--In vain again I try, O'er craggy rocks, and rugged hills she clinibs, So charming Myra to each sense appears, And tears on pointed flints her tender limbs : My foul adores, my rage dissolves in rears. 'Till caught at length, just as my arnis I fold, So the gallid lion, (marting with his wound, Turn’d to a tree shie yet escapes my hold.

Threatens his foes, and makes the forelt found, In my next love, a diff'rent fate I find,

With his trong tecth he bites the bloody start, Ah! which is worse, the false, or the unkind? And tears his side with more provoking smart, Forgetting Daphne, I Corinis + chose,

Till having spent his voice in fruitless cries, [dies.
A kinder nymph-too kind for ny repose; He lays him down, breaks his proud heart, and
The joys I give, but more provoke her breast,
She keeps a private drudge tu quench the rest;
How, and with whom, the very birds proclaim
Her black pollution, and reveal my shame.

ADIEU L'AMOUR.
Hard lot of beauty! fatally bestow'd,
Or given to the false, or to the proud;

HERE end my chains, and thraldom cease,
By different ways they bring us equal pain,

If not in joy, I'll live at lcast in peace; The false betray us, and the proud disdain.

Since for the pleasures of an hour, Scorn'd and abus'd, from mortal loves I fly,

We must endure an age of pain, To seek more truth in my own native sky.

I'll be this abject thing no more,

Love, give me back my heart again. * Acolo * A nymplı beloved by Apollo, but at the fame time had

Despair tormented first niy breast, # private intrigue with one ilichus, which was discovered by a crow

Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;

Y y ii)

0! for the peace of humankind,

We praise the piece, and give the painter fame, Make women longer true, or sooner kind :

But as the just reseniblance speaks the dame. With justice, or with mercy reign,

Poets are limners of another kind, O love! or give me back my heart again. To copy out ideas in the mind;

(thown, Words are the paint by which their thoughts are And nature fits, the object to be drawn;

The written picture we applaud, or blame,
L O V E.

But as the due proportions are the same.

Who driven with ungovernable fire, To love, is to be doom'd on earth to feel

Or void of art, beyond these bounds aspire, What after death the tortur'd meet in hell:

Gigantic forms, and monstrous births alone 7'he vulture dipping in Prometheus' side

Produce, which naturc shock'd, disdains to own, His bloody beak, with his torn liver dy'd,

By true reflexion I would see my face, Is love: The slone that labours up the hill,

Why brings the fool a magnifying glass? Mocking the labourer's toil, returning still,

(1) “ But poetry in fi&tion takes delight, Is love. Those streams where Tantalus is curft “ And mounting in bold figures out of sight, To fit, and never drink, with endless thirst :

« Leaves truth behind, in her audacious Those loaden boughs that with their burden bend

"

flight: To court his taste, and yet escape his hand,

" Fables and metaphors, that always lie, All this is love, that to dissembled joys

“ And rash hyperboles that foar so high, Invites vain men, with real grief destroys.

" And every ornament of verse must die." Mistake me not : no figures i exclude, And but forbid intemperance, not food.

Who would with care some happy fiction frame, MEDITATION ON DEATH.

So nimics truth, it looks the very fame;

Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in nature's scorn, ENOUGH, cnough, my soul, of worldly noise,

But nicant to grace, illustrate, and adorn.
Of acry pomps, and fleeting joys;

Important truths still let your fablcs hold,
What does this busy world provide at best, And moral mysteries with art unsold,
But brittle goods that break like glass,

Ladies and beaux to please, is all the task,
But poison'd swects, a troubled feast, (pass? But the sharp critic will instruction ask.
And pleasures like the winds, that in a moment (2) As veils transparent cover, but not hide,
Thy thoughts to nobler meditations give,

Such mctaphors appear when right apply'd; And study how to die, not how to live.

When thro' the phiase we plainly see the sense, How frail is beauty ? Ah! how vain,

Truth, where the meaning's obvious, will dispense; And how short-liv'd those glories are,

The reader what in reason's due, belicvcs, That vex our nights and days with pain,

Nor can we call that false, which not deceives. And break our hearts with care!

(3) Hyperboles, fo daring and so bold, In duft we no distinction fee,

Dildaining bounds, are yet by rules control'd; Such Helen is, such, Myra, thou must be.

Above the clouds, but still within our sight,

They nount with truth, and make a tow'ring How short is lifc? why will vain courtiers toil,

flight, And crowd a vainer monarch, for a smile?

Presenting things impoffible to view, What is that monarch, but a mortal man, ,

They wander through incredible to true : His crown a pageant, and his life a span?

Falsehoods thus mix'd, like mecals are refin'd, With all his guards and his dominions, he

And truth, like silver, leaves the dross behind, Must ficken too, and die as well as we.

Thus poetry has ample space to soar, Those boasted names of conquerors and kings

Nor needs forbidden regions to explore : Are swallow'd, and become forgotten things: Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, One destin'd period men in common have,

Who thus describes his hero slain and dead: The great, the base, the coward, and the brave, (4)“ Kill'd as || he was, insensible of death, All food alike for worms, companions in the

" He still fights on, and scorns to yield his

6 breath.' grave. The prince and parasite together lie,

The noisy culverin o'ercharg'd, lets fly,
No fortune can exalt, but death will climb as high. And burst unaiming in the rended ky:

Such frantic flights are like a madman's drean,
And nature suffers in the wild extreme.

The captive Canibal weigh'd down with chains,
ESSAY

Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains,
Of nature ficrce, untameable, and proud,

He grins defiance at the gaping crowd,
As when some image of a charming face

And spent at last, and speechless as he lies, [dics, In living paint, an artist tries to trace,

With looks still threatning, mocks their rage, and He carefully cousults cach beauteous line, 1.Jufting to his object, his design,

1! Ariollo,

UPON UNNATURAL FLIGHTS IN POETRY.

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PO E MS.

13 This is the utmost tretch that Nature can, And all beyond is fulsome, false, and vain.

EXPLANATORY ANNOTATIONS
Beauty's the theme; some nymph divinely fair
Excites the inuse : let truth be even there:
As painters flatter, so may poets too,

FOREGOING POEM.
But to resemblance must be ever true.

queen (s)“ The day that she was born, the Cyprian (1) Tue poetic world is nothing but fiction; “ Had like thave dy'd through envy and

Parnassus, Pegasus, and the Muses, pure imaginathrough spleen;

tion and chimæra; but being however a system “ The graces in a hurry left the skies

universally agreed on, all that has or may be con“ To have the honour to atrend her eyes; trived or invented upon this foundation, accord“ And love, despairing in her heart a place, ing to nature, shall be reputed as truth; but whate

“ Would needs take up his lodging in her face." foever shall diminish fronı, or exceed the just proThough wrote by great Corneille, such lines as these, portions of nature, shall be rejected as false, and Such civil nonsense sure could never please. pals for extravagance; as dwarfs and giants, for Waller, the best of all th' inspired train,

monsters. To melt the fair, instructs the dying (wain. (6) The t Roman wie, who impiously divides

(2) When Homer, mentioning Achilles, terms His here, and his gods to diff'reot lides,

him á lion, this is a metaphor, and the meaning I would condenn, but that, in spight of sense is obvious and true, though the literal sense bc Th' admiring world still stands in his defence. false, the poet intending thereby to give his reader How oft, alas! -he best of men in vain

some idea of the strength and fortitude of his heContend for blefings which the worst obtain!

Had he said, that wolf, or that bear, this had The gods, permitting traitors to succeed,

been falle, by pretending an image not conformBecome not parties in an impious deed :

able to the nature and character of a hero, &c. And by the tyrant's murder, we may

find That Cato and the gods were of a mind.

(3) Hyperboles are of diverse forts, and the Thus forcing truth with such prepoft'rous praise, manner of introducing them is different: fome Our characters are lessen, when we'd raise : are as it were daturalized and establithed by a culo Like castles built by magic art in air,

tomary way of expression; as when we say, such That vanish at approach, such thoughts appear ;

2 one is as swift as the wind, whiter than snow, or But rais'd on truth, by fome judicious hand,

the like. Homer Speaking of Nereus, calls hin As on a rock they shall for age, stand, [stor'd, beauty itself. Martial of Zoilus, lewdness itself. (7) Our king ll return'd, and banish'd

Such hyperboles lie indeed, but deceive us not; The muse ran mad to see her exil'd lord;

and therefore Seneca terms them lies that readily On the crack'd stage the bedlam heroes roarid, cooduct our imagination to truths, and have an And scarce could speak one reasonable word;

intelligible fignification, though the expreflion be Dryden hinilelf, to please a frantic age,

trained beyond credibility. Cuftoni has likewite Was forc'd tu let his judgment stoop to rage,

familiarized another way for hyperboles, for erTo a wild audience he copform'd his voice,

ample, by irony: as when we lay of some infa-Comply'd to cultom, but not err'd by choice : mous woman, she's a civil person, where the meanDeem then the people’s, not the writer's sin, ing is to be taken quite opposite to the latter. Almansor's rage, and rants of Maximin;

These few figures are mentioned only for example That fury spent in each elaborate piece,

fake; it will be understood that all others are to He vies for fame with ancient Rome and Greece. be used with the like care and discretion. First & Mulgrave rose, Roscommon next, like light,

(4) I needed not to have travelled so far for To clear our darkness, and to guide our flight; an extravagant fight; I remember one of British With steady judgment, and in lofty sounds, growth of the like nature : They gave us patterns, and they set us bounds;

See those dead bodies hence convey'd with care, The Stagyrice and Horace laid aside,

Life may perhaps return—with change of air. Inform'd by them, we need no foreign guide ; Who feck from poetry a lasting name,

But I choose rather to correct gently, by foreigu May in their lessons learn the road to fane;

examples, hoping that such as are conscious of the But let the bold adventurer be sure

like excesses will take the hint, and secretly reThat every line the rest of truth endure;

prove themselves. It may be poflible for some On this foundation may the fabric rife,

tenpers to naintain rage and indignation to the Firm and unshaken, till it touch the skies.

lait gasp; but the foul and body once parted, there Fron pulpits banilh'd, from the court, from love, niuft necessarily be a determination of action. Forsaken truth seeks shelter in the grove;

Quodiunque oftendis mibi fic incredulus odi. Cherish, ye nuses! the neglected fair,

I cannot forbear quoting on this occafion, as an And take into your train th' abandon'd wanderer

example for the present purpose, two noble lines

of Jasper Main's, in the collection of the Oxford # Corncille. + Lucan. || King Charles II.

verses printed in the ye:r 1643, upon the death of TEarl of Mulgrave's Lifay upon Poetry; 291d Lord RorCommon's upon Trandaccd Verti.

| my grandfather, Sir Bevil Granville, lain in the

peace re

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