HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF PORTLAND.
"Ignofcenda quidem, fcirent fi ignofcere manes.`
ROM Dreams, where thought in fancy's maze
runs mad,
To Reafon, that heaven-lighted lamp in man,
Once more I wake; and at the deftin'd hour,
Punctual as lovers to the moment fworn,
I keep my affignation with my woe.
O! loft to virtue, loft to manly thought,
Loft to the noble fallies of the foul!
Who think it folitude, to be Alone.
Communion fweet! communion large and high!
Our Reason, Guardian Angel, and our God!
Then nearest Thefe, when Others moft remote ;
And All, ere long, shall be remote, but These.
How dreadful, Then, to meet them all alone,
A ftranger! unacknowledg'd! unapprov'd!
Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy breaft; 15 To win thy wish, creation has no more.
Or if we with a fourth, it is a Friend
But friends, how mortal, dangerous the defire!
Take Phoebus to yourselves, ye basking bards!
Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head;
And reeling through the wilderness of joy;
Where Sense runs favage, broke from Reason's chair
And fings falfe peace, till fmother'd by the pall.
My fortune is unlike; unlike my fong;
Unlike the deity my song invokes.
I to Day's foft-ey'd fifter pay my court,
(Endymion's rival!) and her aid implore ;
Now firft implor'd in fuccour to the Muse.
Thou, who didft lately borrow * Cynthia's form,
And modeftly forego thine Own! O Thou,
Who didft thyself, at midnight hours, inspire!
Say, why not Cynthia patronefs of fong?
As thou her crescent, she thy character
Affumes; still more a goddess by the change,
Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute
This revolution in the world infpir`d?
Ye train Pierian! to the Lunar fphere,
In filent hour, addrefs your ardent call
For aid immortal; lefs her brother's right.
She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads
The mazy dance, and hears their matchlefs ftrain,
A strain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear.
Tranfinit it heard, thou filver queen of heaven!
What title, or what name, endears thee most?
Cynthia Cyllené! Phoebe!--or doft hear
*At the duke of Norfolk's mafquerade.
With higher guft, fair Portland of the skies!
Is that the foft inchantment calls thee down,
More powerful than of old Circean charm?
Come; but from heavenly banquets with thee bring
The foul of fong, and whifper in my ear
The theft divine; or in propitious dreams
(For dreams are Thine) transfufe it through the breast Of thy first votary-But not thy laft;
If, like thy Namefake, thou art ever kind.
And kind thou wilt be; kind on fuch a theme; 55
A theme fo like thee, a quite lunar theme,
Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair!
A theme that rofe all pale, and told my foul,
'Twas Night; on her fond hopes perpetual night;
A night which ftruck a damp, a deadlier damp,
Than that which fmote me from Philander's tomb.
Narciffa follows, ere his tomb is clos'd.
Woes cluster; rare are folitary woes;
They love a train, they tread each other's heel;
Her death invades his mournful right, and claims 65
The grief that started from my lids for Him:
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated tear,
Or fhares it, ere it falls. So frequent death,
Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds;
For human fighs his rival strokes contend,
And make distress, distraction. Oh Philander!
What was thy fate? A double fate to me;
Portent, and pain! a menace, and a blow!
Like the black raven hovering o'er my peace,
Not lefs a bird of omen, than of prey.
It call'd Narciffa long before her hour;
It call'd her tender foul, by break of bliss,
From the firft blossom, from the buds of joy;
Those few our noxious fate unblafted leaves
In this inclement clime of human life.
Sweet harmonift! and Beautiful as fweet!
And Young as beautiful! and Soft as young!
And Gay as foft! and Innocent as gay!
And Happy (if aught Happy here) as good!
For fortune fond had built her neft on high.
Like birds quite exquifite of note and plume,
Transfixt by fate (who loves a lofty mark),
How from the fummit of the grove fhe fell,
And left it unharmonious! All its charms
Extinguisht in the wonders of her fong!
Her fong ftill vibrates in my ravisht ear,
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain
(0 to forget her!) thrilling through my heart!
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this grou Of bright ideas, flowers of paradise,
As yet unforfeit ! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and present it to the skies; as Ali
We guess of heaven: and these were all her own.
And the was mine; and I was-was!-most bleft-
Gay title of the deepest misery!
As bodies grow more ponderous, robb'd of life;
Good loft weighs more in grief, than gain'd in joy.
Like bloffom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death ftill lovely, lovelier There.;
Far lovelier! pity fwells the tide of love.
And will not the fevere excufe a figh?
Scorn the proud man that is afham'd to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deserve our shame.
Ye that e'er loft an angel! pity me.
Soon as the luftre languisht in her eye,
Dawning a dimmer day on human fight;
And on her cheek, the refidence of spring,
Pale omen fat; and scatter'd fears around
On all that faw (and who would cease to gaze,
That once had feen ?) with hafte, parental haste,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid north,
Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the fun; the fun
(As if the fun could envy) checkt his beam,
Deny'd his wonted fuccour; nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies; faireft lilies, not fo fair!
Queen lilies and ye painted populace! Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrofial lives; In morn and evening dew, your beauties bathe, And drink the fun; which gives your cheeks to glow, And out-blush (mine excepted) every fair; You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand, Which often cropt your odours, incense meet To thought fo pure! Ye lovely fugitives! Coeval race with man! for man you smile; Why not smile at him too? You share indeed His sudden pass; but not his constant pain.
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