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Ignoscenda quidem, scirent fi ignoscere manes."
Or if we wish a fourth, it is a Friend
Take Phæbus to yourselves, ye balking bards !
Thou, who didst lately borrow * Cynthia's form, And modestly forego thine Own! 0 Thou,
3 Who didst thyself, at midnight hours, inspire ! Say, why not Cynthia patroness of fong? As thou her crescent, she thy character Assumes; ftill more a goddess by the change,
Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute 3 This revolution in the world inspird? Ye train Pierian! to the Lunar sphere, In filent hour, address your ardent call For aid immortal ; less lier brother's right. She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads 40 The mazy dance, and hears their inatchless strain, A strain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear. Transinit it heard, thou silver queen of heaven!' What title, or what name, endears thee moft? Cynthia ! Cyllené! Phæbe!--or dost hear
* At the duke of Norfolk’s masquerade.
With higher gust, fair Portland of the skies!
50 The theft divine; or in propitious dreams (For dreams are Thine) transfuse it through the breast Of thy first votary-But not thy last; If, like thy Namesake, thou art ever kind.
And kind thou wilt be; kind on such a theme; 55 A theme fo like thee, a quite lunar theme, Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair! A theme that rose all pale, and told my soul, 'Twas Night; on her fond hopes perpetual night; A night which struck. a damp, a deadlier damp, 60 Than that which smote me from Philander's tomb. Narcissa follows, ere his tomb is clos’d. Woes cluster ; rare are solitary 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 faithleis, alienated tear, Or shares it, ere it falls. So frequent death, Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds ; For human fighs his rival strekes contend,
70 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 less a bird of omen, than of prey.
It callid Narcisa long before her hour;
Sweet harmonilt! and Beautiful as sweet !
9 Her song still vibrates in
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this grou Of bright ideas, flowers of paradise,
9 As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind, Kneel, and present it to the skies; as All We guess of heaven: and these were all her own. And the was mine; and I waswas !--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 blossom’d trees o'erturn’d by vernal storm, Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay; And if in death still lovely, lovelier There;
Far lovelier! pity (wells the tide of love.
Soon as the lustre languifht in her eye,
Queen lilies ! and ye painted populace !