How finking waters (the firm land to drain)
Fill'd the capacious deep, and form'd the main,
While from above, adorn'd with radiant light,
A new-born fun furpris'd the dazzled fight;
How vapours turn'd to clouds obfcure the sky,
And clouds diffolv'd the thirsty ground supply;
How the first forest rais'd its fhady head,
Till when, few wandering beafts on unknown
mountains fed.

Then Pyrrha's ftony race rofe from the ground,
Old Saturn reign'd with golden plenty crown'd,
And bold Prometheus (whofe untam'd defire
Rival'd the fun with his own heavenly fire)
Now doom'd the Scythian vulture's endless prey,
Severely pays for animating clay.
[tell?)

He nam'd the nymph (for who but Gods could
Icto whofe arms the lovely Hylas fell;
Alcides wept in vain for Hylas loft,

Hylas in vain refounds through all the coaft.

He with compaffion told Pafiphaës fault,

Ah! wretched queen! whence came that guilty thought?

The maids of Argos, who with frantic cries
And imitated lowings fill the fkies,
(Though metamorphos'd in their wild conceit)
Did never burn with fuch unnatural heat. [stray,
Ah! wretched queen! while you on mountains
He on foft flowers his fnowy fide does lay;
Or feeks in herds a more proportion'd love:
Surround, my nymphs, fhe cries, furround the
grove;

Perhaps fome footsteps printed in the clay,
Will to my love direct your wandering way;
Perhaps, while thus in fearch of him I roam,
My happier rivals have entic'd him home,

He fung how Atalanta was betray'd
By thofe Hefperian baits her lover laid,
And the fad fifters who to trees were turn'd,
While with the world th'ambitious brother burn'd.
All he defcrib'd was prefent to their eyes, [rife.
And as he rais'd his verfe, the poplars feem'd to
He taught which Mufe did by Apollo's will
Guide wandering Gallus to th' Aonian hill :
(Which place the God for folemn meetings chofe)
With deep refpe& the learned fenate rofé,
And Linus thus (deputed by the rest)
The hero's welcome, and their thanks, express'd:
This harp of old to Hefiod did belong,

To this, the Mufes' gift, join thy harmonious fong: Charm'd by these strings, trees starting from the ground,

Have follow'd with delight the powerful found.
Thus confecrated, thy Grynæan grove
Shall have no equal in Apollo's love.

Why fhould I fpeak of the Mcgarian maid,
For love perfidious, and by love betray'd?
And her, who round with barking monsters arm'd,
The wandering Grecks (ah frighted men!)
alarm'd;

Whose only hope on shatter'd ships depends,
While fierce fea-dogs devour the mangled friends.
Or tell the Thracian tyrant's alter'd shape,
And dire revenge of Philomela's rape,
Who to those woods directs her mournful courfe,
Where she had fuffer'd by incestuous force,

While, loath to leave the palace too well known, Progné flies, hovering round, and thinks it still her own?

Whatever near Eurota's happy kream With laurels crown'd, had been Apolio's theme, Silenus fings; the neighbouring rocks reply, And fend his mystic numbers through the sky; Till night began to spread her gloomy veil, And call'd the counted fheep from every dale; The weaker light unwillingly declin'd, [refign'd. And to prevailing fhades the murmuring world

ODE UPON SOLITUDE.

I.P

HAIL, facred Solitude! from this calm bay,
I view the world's tempeftuous sea,
And with wife pride despise

All thofe fenfelefs vanities:
With pity mov'd for others, caft away

Op rocks of hopes and fears, I fee them tofs'd
On rocks of folly, and of vice, I fee them loft:
Some the prevailing malice of the great,

Unhappy men or adverse Fate,
Sunk deep into the gulphs of an afflicted state.
But more, far more, a numberlefs prodigious train,
Whilft Virtue courts them, but alas in vain,

Fly from her kind embracing arms, Deaf to her fondeft call, blind to her greate charms,

And, funk in pleasures and in brutish eafe, [please. They in their fhipwreck'd ftate themselves obdurate

Hail, facred Solitude! foul of my soul,

It is by thee I truly live,

Thou doft a better life and nobler vigour give;
Doft each unruly appetite control:
Thy conftant quiet fills my peaceful breaft,
With unmix'd joy, uninterrupted reft.

Prefuming love does ne'er invade
This private folitary shade:
And, with fantastic wounds by beauty made,
The joy has no allay of jealousy, hope, and fear,
The folid comforts of this happy fphere:

Yet I exalted Love admire, Friendship, abhorring fordid gain, And purify'd from Luft's dishoneft ftain: Nor is it for my folitude unfit,

For I am with my friend alone, As if we were but one; 'Tis the polluted love that multiplies, But friendship does two fouls in one comprife,

VIRTUE, dear friend, needs no defence,
The fureft guard is innocence:
None knew, till guilt created fear,
What darts or poifon'd arrows were.
Integrity undaunted goes

Through Libyan fands and Scythian fnows,
Or where Hydafpes' wealthy fide
Pays tribute to the Perfian pride.

For as (by amorous thoughts betray'd)
Carelefs in Sabine woods I ftray'd,
A grifly foaming wolf unfed,
Met me unarm'd, yet trembling fled.
No beaft of more portentous fize
In the Hercinian foreft lies;
None fiercer, in Numidia bred,
With Carthage were in triumph led.
Set me in the remotest place,
That Neptune's frozen arms embrace;
Where angry Jove did never spare
One breath of kind and temperate air.
Set me where on fome pathlefs plain
The fwarthy Africans complain,
To fee the chariot of the Sun
So near their scorching country run.
The burning zone, the frozen ifles,
Shall hear me fing of Cælia's fmiles:
All cold but in her breast I will defpife,
And dare all heat but that in Cælia's eyes.

IV.

Set me in the remotest place

That ever Neptune did embrace; When there her image fills my breast, Helicon is not half fo bleft.

V.

Leave me upon fome Libyan plain, So fhe my fancy entertain,

And when the thirsty monsters meet, They'll all pay homage to my feet.

VI.

The magic of Orinda's name,
Not only can their fiercenefs tame,
But, if that mighty word I once rehearse,
They seem submissively to roar in verse.

Part of the Fifth Scene of the Second Act in

GUARINI'S PASTOR FIDO,

TRANSLATED.

Aн happy grove! dark and fecure retreat
Of facred filence, reft's eternal feat;
How well your cool and unfrequented shade
Suits with the chafte retirements of a maid;
Oh! if kind heaven had been fo much my friend,
To make my fate upon my choice depend;
All my ambition I would hear confine,
And only this Elyfium fhould be mine:
Fond men, by paffion wilfully betray'd,
Adore thofe idols which their fancy made;
Purchafing riches with our time and care,
We lose our freedom in a gilded fnare;
And, having all, all to ourselves refuse,
Oppreft with bleffings which we fear to use.
Fame is at best but an inconftant good,
Vain are the boafted titles of our blood;
We fooneft lose what we most highly prize,
And with our youth our short-liv'd beauty dies;
In vain our fields and flocks increase our store,
If our abundance makes us with for more;
How happy is the harmless country maid,
Who, rich by nature, fcorns fuperfluous aid!
Whofe modeft cloaths no wanton eyes invite,
But like her foul preferves the native white;
Whose little ftore her well taught mind does please,
Nor pinch'd with want, nor cloy'd with wanton
cafe,
Who, free from ftorms, which on the great ones
Makes but few wishes, and enjoys them all;
No carc but love can difcompose her breast,
Love, of all cares, the sweetest and the best:
While on sweet grafs her bleating charge does lie,
Our happy lover feeds upon her eye;
Not one on whom or Gods or men impose,
But one whom love has for this lover chofe,
Under fome favourite myrtle's fhady boughs,
They speak their paffions in repeated vows,
And whilst a blush confeffes how the burns,
His faithful heart makes as fincere returns;

[fall,

Thus in the arms of love and peace they lie, And while they live, their flames can never die.

THE DREAM.

To the pale tyrant, who to horrid graves
Condemns fo many thoufand helpless flaves,
Ungrateful we do gentle sleep compare,
Who, though his victories as numerous are,
Yet from his flaves no tribute does he take,
But woeful cares that load men while they wake.
When his foft charms had eas'd my weary fight
Of all the baleful troubles of the light,
Dorinda came. divefted of the scorn

Which the unequal'd maid fo long had worn;
How oft, in vain, had Love's great God effay'd
To tame the ftubborn heart of that bright maid!
Yet, fpite of all that pride that fwells her mind,
The humble God of Sleep can make her kind.
A rifing blush increas'd the native store
Of charms, that but too fatal were before.
Once more prefent the vifion to my view,
The fweet illufion, gentle Fate, renew!
How kind, how lovely fhe, how ravish'd I!
Shew me, bleft God of Sleep, and let me die.

THE GHOST OF THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS,

TO THE NEW ONE, APPOINTED TO MEET AT OXFORD.

FROM deepest dungeons of eternal night,
The feats of horror, forrow, pains, and fpite,
I have been fent to tell you, tender youth,
A feasonable and important truth.

I feel (but, oh! too late) that no disease

Is like a furfeit of luxurious eafe:

And of all others, the moft tempting things
Are too much wealth, and too indulgent kings.
None ever was fuperlatively ill,

But by degrees, with industry and skill:
And fome whofe meaning hath at first been fair,
Grow knaves by ufe, and rebels by despair.
My time is paft, and yours will foon begin,
Keep the first bloffoms from the blast of fin;
And by the fate of my tumultuous ways,
Preferve yourselves, and bring ferener days.
The bufy, fubtle ferpents of the law,
Did firft my mind from true obedience draw:
While I did limits to the king prescribe,
And took for oracles that canting tribe,
I chang'd true freedom for the name of free,
And grew feditious for variety:

All that oppos'd me were to be accus'd,
And by the laws illegally abus'd;

The robe was fummon'd, Maynard in the head, In legal murder none so deeply read;

I brought him to the bar, where once he stood,
Stain'd with the (yet unexpiated) blood

Of the brave Strafford, when three kingdoms rung
With his accumulative hackney tongue;
Prifoners and witnesses were waiting by,
These had been taught to fwear, and those to die,
And to expect their arbitrary fates,
Some for ill faces, fome for good estates.
To fright the people, and alarm the town,
Bedloe and Oates employ'd the reverend gown.
But while the triple mitre bore the blame,
The king's three crowns were their rebellious
aim:

I seem'd (and did but seem) to fear the guards,
And took for mine the Bethels and the Wards:
Anti-monarchic Heretics of state,
Immortal Atheists, rich and reprobate :
But above all I got a little guide,
Who every ford of villainy had try'd:
None knew fo well the old pernicious way,
To ruin fubjects, and make kings obey;
And my fmall Jehu, at a furious rate,
Was driving Eighty back to Forty-eight.
This the king knew, and was resolv'd to bear,
But I miftook his patience for his fear.
All that this happy island could afford,
Was facrific'd to my voluptuous board,
In his whole paradife, one only tree
He had excepted by a strict decree;
A facred tree, which royal fruit did bear,
Yet it in pieces I confpir'd to tear;
Beware, my child! divinity is there.
This fo undid all I had done before,
I could attempt, and he endure no more;
My unprepar'd, and unrepenting breath,
Was fnatch'd away by the swift hand of death;
And I, with all my fins about me, hurl'd
To th' utter darkness of the lower world:
A dreadful place! which you too soon will fes,
If you believe feducers more than me.

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY'S DOG.

THOU, happy creature, art secure
From all the torments we endure;
Defpair, ambition, jealoufy,
Loit friends, nor love, difquiet thee;
A fullen prudence drew thee hence
From noife, fraud, and impertinence.
Though life effay'd the fureft wile,
Gilding itself with Laura's fmile;
How didft thou fcorn life's meaner charms,
Thou who could't break from Laura's armis !
Poor Cynic! ftill methinks I hear
Thy awful murmurs in my ear;
As when on Laura's lap you lay,
Chiding the worthlefs crowd away.
How fondly human paffions turn!
What we then envy'd, now we mourn!

EPILOGUE

то

ALEXANDER THE GREAT,

When acted at the Theatre in Dublin.

YOU'VE feen, to night the glory of the East,
The man, who all the then known world possest,
That kings in chains did son of Ammon call,
And kingdoms, thought divine, by treason fall.
Him Fortune only favour'd for her sport;
And when his conduct wanted her support,
His empire, courage, and his boasted line,
Were all prov'd mortal by a flave's design,
Great Charles, whofe birth has promis'd milder
fway,

Whofe awful nod all nations must obey,
Secur'd by higher powers, exalted stands
Above the reach of facrilegious hands :
Those miracles that guard his crowns, declare

That heaven has form'd a monarch worth their

care;

Born to advance the loyal, and depofe

His own, his brother's, and his father's foes.
Faction, that once made diadems her prey,
And ftopt our prince in his triumphant way,
Fled like a mift before this radiant day.
So when in heaven the mighty rebels rose,
Proud, and refolv'd that empire to depose,
Angels fought first, but unfuccefsful prov'd;
God kept the conqueft for his best belov'd:
At fight of fuch omnipotence they fly,
Like leaves before autumnal winds, and die.
All who before him did afcend the throne,
Labour'd to draw three reftive nations on.
He boldly drives them forward without pain:
They hear his voice, and straight obey the rein.
Such terror speaks him deftin'd to command;
We worship Jove with thunder in his hand :
But when his mercy without power appears,
We flight his altars, and neglect our prayers.
How weak in arms did civil difcord fhew!
Like Saul, she struck with fury at her foc,
When an immortal hand did ward the blow.
Her offspring, made the royal hero's fcorn,
Like fons of earth, all fell as foon as born:
Yet let us boast, for fure it is our pride,
When with their blood bur neighbour lands were
Ireland's untainted loyalty remain'd,
Her people guiltlefs, and her fields unftain'd

ON THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

1.

The day of wrath, that dreadful day, Shal the whole world in afhes lay, As David and the Sybils Tay.

11.

What horror will invade the mind,

When the ftrict Judge, who would be kind, Shall have few venial faults to find!

VOL. VI.

[dy'd,

PROLOGUE

то

POMPEY, A TRAGEDY,

Tranflated by Mrs Cath. Philips,

From the French of Monfieur CORNEILLE,
And acted at the Theatre in Dublin.

The mighty rivals, whofe deftructive rage
Did the whole world in civil arms engage,
Are now agreed; and make it both their choice,
To have their fates determin'd by your voice.
Cæfar from none but you will have his doom:
He hates th' obfequious flatteries of Rome :
He fcorns, where once he rul'd, now to be try'd;
And he hath rul'd in all the world befide.
When he the Thames, the Danube, and the Nile,
Had ftain'd with blood, Peace flourish'd in this
ille;

And you alone may boaft you never faw
Cæfar till now, and now can give him law.

Great Pompey too comes as a fuppliant here,
But fays he cannot now begin to fear :
He knows your equal juftice, and (to tell
A Roman truth) he knows himself too well.
Succefs, 'tis true, waited on Cæfar's fide;
But Pompey thinks he conquer'd when he died.
His fortune, when fhe prov'd the most unkind,
Chang'd his condition, but not Cato's mind.
Then of what doubt can Pompey's caufe admit,
Since here so many Cato's judging fit.

But you, bright nymphs, give Cæfar leave to

woo,

The greatest wonder of the world, but you :
And hear a Mufe, who has that hero taught
To fpeak as generously as e'er he fought;
Whole eloquence from fuch a theme deters
All tongues but English, and all pens but hers.
By the juft Fates your fex is doubly bleft:
You conquer'd Cæfar, and you praise him beft.
And you (§ illuftrious Sir) receive as due,
A prefent deftiny preferv'd for you.
Rome, France, and England, join their forces here,
To make a poen worthy of your ear.
Accept it then; and on that Pompey's brow,
Who gave fo many crowns, beftow one now.

ROSS'S GHOST.

SHAME of my life, disturber of my tomb,
Bafe as thy mother's prostituted womb;
Huffing to cowards, fawning to the brave,
To knaves a fool, to credulous fools a knave,
The king's betrayer, and the people's flave.
Like Samuel, at thy necromantic call,
I rife, to tell thee, God has left thee, Saul.

To the Lord Lieutenant,

I ftrove in vain th' infected blood to cure:

Streams will run muddy, where the fpring's imIn all your meritorious life, we fee [pure.

Old Taaf's invincible fobriety.

Places of Master of the Horse, and Spy,
You (like Tom Howard) did at once fupply.
From Sydney's blood your loyalty did spring:
You fhew us all your parents, but the king;
From whofe too tender and too bounteous arms
(Unhappy he who fuch a viper warms!
As dutiful a fubject as a son !)

To your true parent, the whole town, you run.
Read, if you can, how th' old apostate fell :
Out-do his pride, and merit more than hell.
Both he and you were glorious and bright,
The first and faireft of the fons of light:
But when, like him, you offer'd at the crown,
Like him, your angry father kick'd you down.