HORACE, BOOK II. ODE IV.*

BLUSH not, my friend, to own the love
Which thy fair captive's eyes do move :
Achilles, once the fierce, the brave,
Stoop'd to the beauties of a flave;
Tecmofla's charms could overpower
Ajax, her lord and conqueror;
Great Agamemnon, when fuccefs
Did all his arms with conqueft blefs,
When Hector's fall had gain'd him more
Than ten long rolling years before,
By a bright captive virgin's eyes
Ev'n in the midst of triumph dies.
You know not to what mighty line
The lovely maid may make you join;
See but the charms her forrow wears,
No common caufe could draw fuch tears:
'Thofe ftreams fure that adorn her fo
For lofs of royal kindred flow:
Oh think not fo divine a thing
Could from the bed of commons fpring;
Whofe faith could fo unmov'd remain,
And fo averfe to fordid gain,

Was never born of any race

That might the nobleft love disgrace.
Her blooming face, her fnowy arms,
Her well-fhap'd legs, and all her charms
Of her body and her face,

I, poor I, may fafely praise.

Sufpect not, Love, the youthful rage
From Horace's declining age;
But think, remov'd by forty years,
All his flames and all thy fears.

HORACE, BOOK II. ODE VIII.

Is ever any injur'd power,
By which the falfe Bariné fwore,
Falfe, fair Bariné, on thy head

Had the leaft mark of vengeance fhed;
If but a tooth or nail of thee
Had fuffer'd by thy perjury,

I should believe thy vows; but thou
Since perjur'd doft more charming grow,
Of all our youth the public care,
Nor half fo falfe as thou art fair.
It thrives with thee to be forfworn
By thy dead mother's facred urn,
By heaven, and all the stars that fhine
Without, and every god within :
Venus hears this, and all the while
At thy empty vows does smile,
Her nymphs all fmile, her little fon
Does fmile, and to his quiver run;
Does fmile, and fall to whet his darts,
To wound for thee fresh lovers hearts.
See all the youth does thee obey;
Thy train of flaves grows every day;
Nor leave thy former fubjects thee,
Though oft they threaten to be free,

See another Imitation of this Ode in Yalden's Pocms.

This you well know, and furely none fo well,
Who both in Physic's facred art excel,

And in Wit's orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phœbus, and the tuncful Nine.

Thus fweetly fad of old, the Cyclops strove
To soften his uneasy hours of love.

Then, when hot youth urg'd him to fierce defire,
And Galatea's eyes kindled the raging fire,
His was no common flame, nor could he move
in the old arts and beaten paths of love;
Vor flowers nor fruits fent to oblige the fair,
Vor more to please curl'd his neglected hair;
His was all rage, all madness; to his mind
No other cares their wonted entrance find.
Oft from the field his flock return'd alone,
Jnheeded, unobferv'd: he on some stone,
Or craggy cliff, to the deaf winds and fea;
Accufing Galatea's cruelty;

ill night, from the first dawn of opening day,
Confumes with inward heat, and melts away.
'et then a cure, the only cure, he found,
and thus apply'd it to the bleeding wound:
rom a fteep rock, from whence he might fur-
vey

The flood (the bed where his lov'd fea-nymph lay),
lis drooping head with forrow bent he hung,
and thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful fong.
Fair Galatea, why is all my pain
Rewarded thus?-foft love with sharp disdain?
Fairer than falling fnow or rifing light,
Soft to the touch as charnuing to the fight;
Sprightly as unyok'd heifers, on whofe head
The tender crefcents but begin to fpread;
Yet, cruel, you to harshness more incline,
Than unripe grapes pluck'd from the favage

"vine.

Soon as my heavy eye-lids feal'd with fleep, Hither you come out from the foaming deep; But, when fleep leaves me, you together fly, And vanish fwiftly from my opening eye, Swift as young lambs when the fierce wolf "they fpy.

I well remember the first fatal day

That made my heart your beauty's cafy prey, 'Twas when the flood you, with my mother, left, Of all its brightnefs, all its pride, bereft, To gather flowers from the steep mountain's 66 top;

Of the high office proud, I led you up, To hyacinths and rofes did you bring, And thew'd you all the treasures of the fpring. But from that hour my foul has known no reft, Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast: I rage, I burn. Yet ftill regardless you Not the leaft fign of melting pity fhew: No; by the gods that fhall revenge my pain! No; you, the more I love, the more difdain. Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn'd, I know Why you defpife and fly the Cyclops fo; "Because a fhaggy brow from fide to fide, "Stretch'd in a line, does my large forchead hide; "And under that one only eye does fhine,

14

And my flat nofe to my big lips does join. "Such though I am, yet know, a thoufand sheep, "The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep;

"With sweetest milk they fill my flowing pails, "And my vaft ftock of cheeses never fails; "In fummer's heat, or winter's fharpeft cold, My loaded fhelves groan with the weight they shold.

"With fuch foft notes I the fhrill pipe infpire, "That every listening Cyclops does admire; "While with it often I all night proclaim

66

Thy powerful charms, and my fuccefsful flame. "For thee twelve does, all big with fawn, I feed; "And four bear-cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed. "Ah! come to me, fair nymph! and you shall "find

"These are the smallest gifts for thee design'd. “Ah! come, and leave the angry waves to roar, "And break themfelves against the founding "fhore. [be

"How much more pleasant would thy flumbers "In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me! "There the ftraight cyprefs and green laurel join, "And creeping ivy clafps the cluster'd vine; "There fresh, cool rills, from Ætna's pureft fnow, "Diffolv'd into ambrofial liquor, flow.

"Who the wild waves and blackish fea could "chocfe, [refule? "And thefe til fhades and thefe fweet freams* "But if you fear that I, o'ergrown with hair, "Without a fire defy the winter air, "Know I have mighty ftores of wood, and know Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow. My foul, my life itfelf fhould burn for thee, "And this one eye, as dear as life to me.

66

66

Why was not I with fins, like fishes, made, "That I, like them, might in the deep have "play'd?

"Then would I dive beneath the yielding tide, "And kifs your hand, if you your lips deny'd. "To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear,

"And flowers that crown each feafon of the year. But I'm refolv'd I'll learn to fwim and dive "Of the next ftranger that does here arrive, "That th' undiscover'd pleasures I may know "Which you enjoy in the deep flood below. "Come forth, O nymph! and coming forth for66 get,

Like me that on this rock unmindful fit "(Of all things elfe unmindful but of thee), "Home to return forget, and live with me. "With me the fweet and pleafing labour choose, To feed the flock, and milk the burthen'd

66 ewcs, [infufe. To prefs the cheese, and the sharp runnet to "My mother does unkindly ufe her fon, "By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;

For me the never labours to prevail, Nor whispers in your ear my amorous tale. "No; though fhe knows I languish every day, "And fees my body wafte, and ftrength decay.

But I more ills than what I feel will feign,

And of my head and of my feet complain;
That, in her breast if any pity lie,

She may be fad, and griev'd, as well as I.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy reafon fled "If your young lambs with new-pluck'd boug

you fed,

Rr iiij

ソ

.

And watch'd your flock, would yo not feem 26 more wife;

"Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies. "Perhaps you may fince this proves fo unkind, "Another faire: Galatea find.

"Me many virgins as I pafs invite

Had I a pen that could at once impare
Soft Ovid's nature and high Virgil's art,
Then the immortal Sachariffa's name
Should be but fecond in the lift of fame;
Each grove, each fhade, fhould with thy praife be
fill'd,

44 night;

"And, if I but incline my liftening ear,

"Thus we,

"New joys, new fmiles, in all their looks appear. it feems, can be belov'd; and we, "It feems, are f mebody as well as fhe."

Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire, And footh'd with gentle verfe his fierce defire; 'Thus pafs'd his hours with more delight and ease, Than if the riches of the world were his.

TO CELIA.

FLY fwift, ye hours; ye fluggish minutes, fly;
Bring back my love, or let her lover die.
Make hafte, O fun, and to my eyes once more,
My Calia brighter than thyfelf restore.

In fpite of thee, 'tis night when she's away,
Her eyes alone can the glad beams difplay,
That make my fky lock clear, and guide my day..
O when will the lift up her facred light,
And chace away the flying fhades of night!
With her how faft the flowing hours run on!
But oh! how long they ftay when he is gone!
So flowly time when clogg'd with grief does move ;
Sa tift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an age fince I beheld her laft.
O, my aufpicious ftar, make hafte to rife,
To charm our hearts, and blefs our longing eyes!
O, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirsty fou! does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue!
Where pointed wit with folid judgment grows,
And in one eafy fiream united flows.
Whene'er you fpeak, with what delight we hear,
You call up every foul to every ear!

Nature's too prodigal to womankind,
Ev'u where she does neglect t'adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears fuch refiftlefs fway,
As makes mankind with j y and pride obey.
But, oh! when wit and fenfe with beauty's join'd,
The woman's fweetness with the manly mind;
When nature with so just a hand does mix,
The most engaging charms of either fex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does fomething form not human but divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The pobleft work of her almighty power!
Nor ught our zeal thy anger to create,
Since love's thy debt, nor is our choice, but fate,
Where nature bids, worship I'm forc'd to pay,
Nor have the liberty to difpbey;
And whe:doc'e fhe does a roet make,
She gives him verfe but for thy beauty's fake.

SPOKEN TO THE QUEEN,

IN TRINITY COLLEGE NEW COURT.

Thou equal partner of the royal bed,
That mak'ft a crown fit foft on Charles's head;
In whom, with greatnefs virtue takes her feat,
Meeknefs with power, and piety with state;
Whole goodness might ev'n factious crowds re-
claim,

Win the feditious, and the favage tame;
Tyrants themselves to gentleft mercy bring,
And only ufclets is on fuch a king!
See, mighty princefs, fee how every breaft
With joy and wonder is at once poffeft:
Such was the joy which the first mortals knew,
When gods defcended to the people's view,
such devout wonder did it then afford,
To fee thole powers they had unfeen ador'd,
But they were feign'd; nor, if they had been tree,
Could fhed more bleflings on the earth than you:
Our courts, enlarg'd, their former bounds difdam,
To make reception for fo great a train :
Here may your facred breast rejoice to fee
Your own age ftrive with ancient piety;
Soon now, fince bleft by your auspicious eyes,
To full perfection fhall our fabric rife.
Lefs powerful charms than yours of old could call
The willing ftones into the Theban wall,
And ours, which now its rife to you thall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great name thil

=

Dorinda frown'd? No, the is ever mild; Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd: Alas! fhe fmil'd; for to the lovely maid None had the fatal tidings yet convey'd.

Tell me then, shepherd, tell me, canst thou find As long as thou art true, and she is kind,

A griet fo great, as may prevail above

'n Damon's friendship, or Dorinda's love? DAM. Sure there is none. THYR. But, Damon, there may be.

What if the charming Floriana die?

[true?

DAM. Far be the omen: THYR. But fuppofe it DAM. Then fhould I grieve, my Thyrfis, more than you.

he is THYR. Alas! fhe was, but is no more: Now, Damon, now, let thy fwoln eyes run o'er : Here to this turf by thy fad Thyrfis grow, And, when my ftreams of grief too fhallow flow, et in thy tide to raise the torrent high, Till both a deluge make, and in it die. DAM. Then, that to this wifh'd height theflood might fwell, [will tell, riend, I will tell thee.-THYR. Friend, I thee How young, how good, how beautiful the fell. Oh! fhe was all for which fond mothers pray, Bleffing their babes when firft they fee the day. Beauty and fhe were one, for in her face at sweetness temper'd with majestic grace; uch powerful charms as might the proudest awe, Yet fuch attractive goodness as might draw The humbleft, and to both give equal law. How was the wonder'd at by every swain! The pride, the light, the goddess of the plain! On all the fhin'd, and fpreading glories caft Diffufive of herself, where'er the past,

There breath'd an air fweet as the winds that blow

From the bleft fhores where fragrant fpices grow:
Ev'n me fometimes the with a smile would grace,
Like the fun fhining on the vileft place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the delight
Of feafting on her eyes my longing fight:
But to a being fo fublime, to pure,
spar'd my devotion, of my love fecure.

DAM. Her beauty fuch: but Nature did defign
That only as an anfwerable fhrine

To the divinity that's lodg'd within.

Her foul fhin'd through, and made her form fo bright,

As clouds are gilt by the fun's piercing light.
In her fmooth forehead we might read expreft
The even caimnels of her gentle breast:
And in her fparkling eyes as clear was writ
The active vigour of her youthful wit.
Each beauty of the body or the face

Was but the fhadow of fome inward grace.
Gay, fprightly, cheerful, free, and unconfin'd,
As innocence could make it, was her mind;
Yet prudent, though not tedious nor fevere,
Like thofe who, being dull, would grave appear;
Who out of guilt do cheerfulness defpife,
And, being fullen, hope men think them wife.
How would the liftening fhepherds round her
throng,

To catch the words fell from her charming tongue!

She all with her own spirit and foul inspir'd,
Her they all lov'd, and her they all admir'd.
Ev'n mighty Pan, whofe powerful hand fuftains
The fovereign crook that mildly awes the plains,
Of all his cares made her the tenderest part,
And great Louisa lodg'd her in her heart.

THYR. Who would not now a folemn mourning keep,

When Pan himself and fair Louisa weep?
When those bleft eyes, by the kind gods defign'd
To cherish nature, and delight mankind,
All drown'd in tears, melt into gentler showers
Than April-drops upon the fpringing flowers?
Such tears as Venus for Adonis fhed,
When at her feet the lovely youth lay dead;
About her, all her little weeping Loves
Ungirt her Ceftos, and unyok'd her doves.

DAM. Come, pious nymphs, with fair Louifa

come,

And vifit gentle Floriana's tomb;

And, as ye walk the melancholy round,
Where no unhalle w'd feet profane the ground,
With your chafte hands fresh flowers and odours

thed

About her laft obfcure and filent bed;
Still praying, as ye gently move your feet,
"Soft be her pillow, and her flumber sweet!"
THYR Sec where they come, a mournful lovely

train

As ever wept on fair Arcadia's plain :
Louifa, mournful far above the reft,
In all the charms of beauteous forrow dreft;
Juft are her tears, when the reflects how foon
A beauty, fecond only to her own,
Flourish'd, look'd gay, was wither'd, and is

gone.

DAM. O, he is gone! gone like a new-born

flower,.

That deck'd fome virgin queen's delicious bower;
Torn from the talk by fome untimely blast,
And 'mong'it the viieft weeds and rubbish cast:
Yet flowers return, and coming fprings disclose
The lily whiter, and more fresh the rofe;
But no kind feafon back her charms can bring,
And Floriana has no fecond spring.

THYK. O, fhe is fet fet like the falling fun;
Darkness is round us, and glad day is gone!
Alas the fun that's fet, again will rife,
And gild with richer beams the morning skies;
But beauty, though as bright as they it fhines,
When its fhort glory to the Weit declines,
O, there's no hope of the returning light;
But all is long oblivion, and eternal night!

TO THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR OF ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL *.

I THOUGHT, forgive my fin, the boasted fire
Of poets' fouls did long ago expire;
Of folly or of madness did accufe
[Muse;
The wretch that thought hinfelf poffeft with

Dryden published it without his naine.

Laugh'd at the god within, that did inspire
With more than human thoughts the tuneful choir;
But fure 'tis more than fancy, or the dream
Of rhymers flumbering by the Mufes' fiream.
Some livelier fpark of heaven, and more refin'd
From earthy drofs, fills the great Poet's mind:
Witness these mighty and immortal lines,
Through each of which th'informing genius fhines:
Scarce a diviner flame infpir'd the King,
Of whom thy Mufe does fo fublimely fing:
Not David's felf could in a nobler verfe
His gloriously offending Son rehearse;
Though in his breast the Prophet's fury met,
The Father's fondnefs, and the Poet's wit.

Here all confent in wonder and in praise,
And to the UNKNOWN POET altars raife:
Which thou muft needs accept with equal joy
As when Æneas heard the wars of Troy,
Wrapt up himself in darkness, and unfeen
Extoll'd with wonder by the Tyrian queen.
Sure thou already art fecure of fame,

Nor want'ft new glories to exalt thy name:
What father elfe would have refus'd to own
So great a Son as godlike Abfalom?

EPITHALAMIUM

UPON THE MARRIAGE OF

CAPTAIN WILLIAM BEDLOE. WILLIA

"Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus avæna, "Arma virumque cano."

I, he, who fung of humble Oates before, Now fing a Captain and a Man of WAR,

GODDESS of Rhyme, that didst inspire
The Captain with poetic fire,
Adding fresh laurels to that brow
Where those of victory did grow,

And ftatelier ornaments may flourish now!
If thou art well recovered fince
"The Excommunicated Prince ";"
For that important tragedy

Would have kill'd any Muse but thee;
Hither with speed, Oh! hither move;
Pull bufkins off, and, fince to love
The ground is holy that you tread in,
Dance bare-foot at the Captain's wedding.
See where he comes, and by his fide
His charming fair angelic bride:
Such, or lefs lovely, was the dame
So much renown'd, Fulvia by name,
With whom of old Tully did join
Then when his art did undermine
The horrid Popish plot of Catiline.
Oh faireft nymph of all Great Britain!
(Though thee my eyes I never fet on)

A Tragedy, by Captain Bedloe, 1681.

Blufh not on thy great lord to fmile,
The fecond faviour of our isle;
What nobler Captain could have led
Thee to thy long'd-for marriage bed:
For know that thy all-daring Will is
As ftout a hero as Achilles;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th' Knight of th' Sun,
And is himfelf a whole romance alone.
Let confcious Flanders speak, and be
The witnefs of his chivalry.
Yet that's not all, his very word
Has flain as many as his fword:
Though common bullies with their oaths
Hurt little till they come to blows,
Yet all his mouth-granadoes kill,
And fave the pains of drawing steel.
This hero thy refiftless charms
Have won to fly into thy arms;
For think not any mean defign,
Or the inglorious itch of coin,
Could ever have his breaft control'd,
Or make him be a flave to gold;
His love's as freely given to thee
As to the king his loyalty.
Then, oh, receive thy mighty prize
With open arms and wifhing eyes,
Kifs that dear face, where may be seen
His worth and parts that fkulk within;
That face, that juftly ftyl'd may be

As true a difcoverer as he.
Think not he ever falfe will prove,
His well known truth fecures his love;
Do you a while divert his cares
From his important grand affairs:
Let him have refpite now a while,

From kindling the mad rabble's zeal:
Zeal, that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,
Shows plainly where its birth-place we may

find,

In hell, where though dire flames for ever glow,
Yet 'tis the place of utter darkness too.
But to his bed be fure be true

As he to all the world and you,
He all your plots will elfe betray
All ye She-Machiavels can lay.
He all defigns, you know, has found,
Though hatch'd in hell or under ground;
Oft to the world fuch fecrets fhew
As fcarce the plotters themselves knew;
Yet, if by chance you hap to fin,

And Love, while Honour's napping, should creep
Yet be difcreet, and do not boast

O' th' treafon by the common poft.
So fhalt thou ftill make him love on;

All virtue's in difcretion.

So thou with him faalt fhine, and be

As great a patriot as he;

And when, as now in Christmas, all
For a new pack of cards do call,
Another Popish pack comes out

To please the cits, and charm the rout:
Though, mighty queen, fhalt a whole fuit com

mand,

A crown upon thy head, and fceptre in thy hard'