Repent in vain, scarce wish to be forgiven ;
Thy form my idol, and thy charms my heaven.

Yet, yet, my Fair! thy nobler efforts try, Lift me from earth, and give me to the sky; Let my lost soul thy brighter virtues feel, Warm'd with thy hopes, and wing'd with all thy zeal. And when, low-bending at the hallow'd shrine, Thy contrite heart shall Abelard resign; When pitying heaven, impatient to forgive, Unbars the gates of light, and bids thee live ; Seize on th' auspicious moment ere it flee, And ask the same immortal boon for me.

Then when these black, terrific scenes are o'er,
And rebel nature chills the soul no more;
When on thy cheek th' expiring roses fade,
And thy last lustres darken in the shade;
When arm'd with quick varieties of pain,
Or creeping dully slow from vein to vein,
Pale Death shall set my kindred spirit free,
And these dead orbs forget to doat on thee;
Some pious friend, whose wild affections glow
Like ours, in sad similitude of woe,

Shall drop one tender, sympathizing tear,
Prepare the garland, and adorn the bier ;
Our lifeless reliques in one tomb enshrine,
And teach thy genial dust to mix with mine.

Mean while, divinely purg'd from every stain, Our active souls shall climb th' etherial plain, To each bright Cherub's purity aspire, Catch all his zeal, and pant with all his fire; There, where no face the glooms of anguish wears, No uncle murders, and no passion tears, Enjoy with heaven eternity of rest,

For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

EPISTLE XIV.

THE

AFRICAN PRINCE,

NOW IN ENGLAND,

ΤΟ

ZARA

AT HIS FATHER'S COURT.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCCXLIX.
BY WILLIAM DODD, L. L. D.

PRINCES, my Fair, unfortunately great,
Born to the pompous vassalage of state,
Whene'er the Public calls, are doom'd to fly
Domestic bliss, and break the private tie,

Fame pays with empty breath the toils they bear,
And love's soft joys are chang'd for glorious care;
Yet conscious Virtue, in the silent hour,

Rewards the hero with a noble dower.

For this alone I dar'd the roaring sea,

Yet more, for this I dar'd to part with Thee. But while my bosom feels the nobler flame, Still unreprov'd, it owns thy gentler claim. Though virtue's awful form my soul approves, 'Tis thine, thine only, Zara, that it loves.

A private lot had made the claim but one,
The Prince alone must love for virtue shun.
Ah! why, distinguish'd from the happier crowd,
To me the bliss of millions disallow'd?

Why was I singled for imperial sway,
Since love and duty point a different way?

Fix'd the dread voyage, and the day decreed,
When, duty's victim, love was doom'd to bleed,
Too well my mem'ry can these scenes renew,
We met to sigh, to weep our last adieu.

That conscious palm, beneath whose towering shade
So oft our vows of mutual love were made;
Where hope so oft anticipated joy,

And plann'd of future years the best employ;
That palm was witness to the tears we shed,
When that fond hope, and all those joys were filed.
Thy trembling lips, with trembling lips, I prest,
And held thee panting to my panting breast.
Our sorrow, grown too mighty to sustain,

Now snatch'd us, fainting, from the sense of pain.
Together sinking in the trance divine,

I caught thy fleeting soul, and gave thee mine!
O! blest oblivion of tormenting care!

O! why recall'd to life and to despair?

The dreadful summons came, to part-and why?
Why not the kinder summons but to die?
To die together were to part no more,
To land in safety on some peaceful shore,

Where love's the business of immortal life,
And happy spirits only guess at strife.

"If in some distant land my prince should find
Some nymph more fair, you cry'd, as Zara kind”-
Mysterious doubt! which could at once impart
Relief to mine, and anguish to thy heart;
Still let me triumph in the fear exprest,
The voice of love that whisper'd in thy breast ;
Nor call me cruel, for my truth shall prove
'Twas but the vain anxiety of love.

Torn from thy fond embrace, the strand I gain, Where mourning friends inflict superfluous pain; My Father there his struggling sighs supprest, And in dumb anguish clasp'd me to his breast, Then sought, conceal'd the conflict of his mind, To give the fortitude he could not find ; Each life-taught precept kindly he renew'd, "Thy country's good, said he, be still pursu'd! If, when the gracious gods my Son restore, These eyes shall sleep in death, to wake no more; If then these limbs, that now in age decay, Shall mouldering mix with earth's parental clay; Round my green tomb perform the sacred rite, Assume my throne, and let thy yoke be light; From lands of freedom glorious precepts bring, And reign at once a father and a king.”

How vainly proud, the arrogantly great Presume to boast a monarch's godlike state!