Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

See but the charms her sorrow wears!
No common cause could draw such tears:
Those streams sure that adorn her so
For loss of royal kindred flow:
Oh! think not so divine a thing

Could from the bed of commons spring;
Whose faith could so unmov'd remain,
And so averse to sordid gain,
Was never born of any race
That might the noblest love disgrace.
Her blooming face, her snowy arms,
Her well-shap'd legs, and all the charms
Of her body and her face,

I, poor 1, may safely praise.
Suspect 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

If ever any injur'd power,
By which the false Bariné swore,
False, fair Bariné, on thy head

Had the least mark of vengeance shed;
If but a tooth or nail of thee
Had suffer'd by thy perjury,

1 should believe thy vows; but thou
Since perjur'd dost more charming grow,
Of all our youth the public care,
Nor half so false as thou art fair.
It thrives with thee to be forsworn
By thy dead mother's sacred urn,
By Heaven, and all the stars that shine
Without, and every god within:
Venus bears this, and all the while
At thy empty vows does smile,
Her nymphs all smile, her little son
Does smile, and to his quiver run;
Does smile, and fall to whet his darts,
To wound for thee fresh lovers' hearts.
See all the youth does thee obey,
Thy train of slaves grows every day;
Nor leave thy former subjects thee,
Though oft they threaten to be free,
Though oft with vows false as thine are,
Their forsworn mistress they forswear.
Thee every careful mother fears

For her son's blooming tender years;
Thee frugal sires, thee the young bride
In Hymen's fetters newly ty'd,
Lest thou detain by stronger charms
Th' expected husband from her arms.

HORACE AND LYDIA. BOOK III, ODE IX.

HORACE.

WHILST I was welcome to your heart,
In which no happier youth had part,
And, full of more prevailing charms,
Threw round your neck his dearer arms,
I flourish'd richer and more blest
Than the great monarch of the east.

[blocks in formation]

Inscribed to Dr. Short.

O SHORT, no herb, no salve was ever found
To ease a lover's heart, or heal his wound;
No med'cine this prevailing ill subdues,
None, but the charms of the condoling Muse:
Sweet to the sense, and easy to the mind,
The cure; but hard, but very hard, to find.
This you well know, and surely none so well,
Who both in Physic's sacred art excel,
And in Wit's orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phoebus, and the tuneful Nine.

Thus sweetly sad of old, the Cyclops strove
To soften his uneasy hours of love.

Then, when hot youth urg'd him to fierce desire, 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; Nor flowers nor fruits sent to oblige the fair, Nor 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, Unheeded, unobserv'd: he on some stone, Or craggy cliff, to the deaf winds and sea, Accusing Galatea's cruelty, Till night, from the first dawn of opening day, Consumes with inward heat, and melts away. Yet then a cure, the only cure, he found, And thus apply'd it to the bleeding wound; From a steep rock, from whence he might survey The flood (the bed where his lov'd sea-nymph lay),

His drooping head with sorrow bent he hung,
And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful song.
"Fair Galatea, why is all my pain
Rewarded thus?-soft love with sharp disdain?
Fairer than falling snow or rising light,
Soft to the touch as charming to the sight;
Sprightly as unyok'd heifers, on whose head
The tender crescents but begin to spread;
Yet, cruel, you to harshness more incline,
Than unripe grapes pluck'd from the savage vine.
Soon as my heavy eye-lids seal'd with sleep,
Hither you come out from the foaming deep;
But, when sleep leaves me, you together fly,
And vanish swiftly from my opening eye,
Swift as young lambs when the fierce wolf they spy.
I well remember the first fatal day

That made my heart your beauty's easy prey.
'Twas when the flood you, with my mother, left,
Of all its brightness, all its pride, bereft,
To gather flowers from the steep mountain's top;
Of the high office proud, I led you up;
To hyacinths and roses did you bring,
And show'd you all the treasures of the spring.
But from that hour my soul has known no rest,
Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast:
I rage, I burn. Yet still regardless you
Not the least sign of melting pity shew:
No; by the gods that shall revenge my pain!
No; you, the more 1 love, the more disdain.
Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn'd, I know
Why you despise and fly the Cyclops so;
Becaus a shaggy brow from side to side,
Stretch'd in a line, does my large forehead hide;
And under that one only eye does shine,
And my flat nose to my big lips does join.
Such though I am, yet know, a thousand sheep,
The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep;
With sweetest milk they fill my flowing pails,
And my vast stock of cheeses never fails;
In summer's heat, or winter's sharpest cold,
My loaded shelves groan with the weight they
hold.

With such soft notes I the shrill pipe inspire,
That every listening Cyclops does admire;
While with it often I all night proclaim
Thy powerful charms, and my successful 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 themselves against the sounding shore.
How much more pleasant would thy slumbers be
In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me!
There the straight cypress and green laurel join,
And creeping ivy clasps the cluster'd vine;
There fresh, cool rills, from Etna's purest snow,
Dissolv'd into ambrosial liquor, flow.

Who the wild waves and blackish sea could choose, And these still shades and these sweet streams refuse?

But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with hair,
Without a fire defy the winter air,
Know I have mighty stores of wood, and know
Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow.
My soul, my life itself should burn for thee,
And this one eye, as dear as life to me.
Why was not I with fins, like fishes, made,
That, like them, might in the deep have play'd?

Then would I dive beneath the yielding tide,
And kiss your hand, if you your lips deny'd,
To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear,
And flowers that crown each season of the year.
But I'm resolv'd I'll learn to swim and dive
Of the next stranger 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 forget,
Like me that on this rock unmindful sit,
(Of all things else unmindful but of thee)
Home to return forget, and live with me.
With me the sweet and pleasing labour choose,
To feed the flock, and milk the burthen'd ewes,
To press the cheese, and the sharp runnet to infuse.
My mother does unkindly use her son,
By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
For me she never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your ear my amorous tale:
No; though she knows I languish every day,
And sees my body waste, and strength 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 sad, and griev'd, as well as I.
"O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy reason fled?
If your young lambs with new-pluck'd boughs you
fed,
[wise;

And watch'd your flock, would you not seem more Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies. Perhaps you may, since this proves so unkind, Another fairer Galatea find.

Me many virgins as I pass invite

To waste with them in love's soft sports the night;
And, if I but incline my listening ear,
New joys, new smiles, in all their looks appear.
Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
It seems, are somebody as well as she!"

Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And sooth'd with gentle verse his fierce desire;
Thus pass'd his hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the riches of the world were his.

TO CELIA.

FLY swift, ye hours; ye sluggish minutes, fly;
Bring back my love, or let her lover die.
Make haste, O Sun, and to my eyes once more,
My Calia brighter than thyself restore.
In spite of thee, 'tis night when she's away,
Her eyes alone can the glad beams display,
That make my sky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will she lift up her sacred light,
And chase away the flying shades of night!
With her how fast the flowing hours run on!
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone!
So slowly time when clogg'd with grief does move;
So swift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an age since I beheld her last.
O, my auspicious star, make haste to rise,
To charm our hearts, and bless our longing eyes!
O, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And cheer my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirsty soul does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue!
Where pointed wit with solid judgment grows,
And in one easy stream united flows.

Whene'er you speak, with what delight we hear, You call up every soul to every ear!

Nature's too prodigal to womankind,
Ev'n where she does neglect t' adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears such resistless sway,
As makes mankind with joy and pride obey.
But, oh! when wit and sense with beauty's
join'd,

The woman's sweetness with the manly mind;
When Nature with so just a hand does mix
The most engaging charms of either sex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does something form not human but divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The noblest work of her almighty power!
Nor ought 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 disobey;
And whenso 'er she does a poet make,

She gives him verse but for thy beauty's sake.
Had I a pen that could at once impart
Soft Ovid's nature and high Virgil's art,
Then the immortal Sácharissa's name

Should be but second in the list of Fame;

What mean these streams still falling from thine eyes,

Fast as those sighs from thy swoln bosom rise? Has the fierce wolf broke through the fenced ground?

Have thy lambs stray'd? or has Dorinda frown'd? THYRSIS. The wolf? Ah! let him come, for now he may :

Have thy lambs stray'd? let them for ever stray:
Dorinda frown'd? No, she is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd:
Alas! she smil'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 grief so great, as may prevail above
Ev'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 suppose it
DAM. Then should I grieve, my Thyrsis, more

than you.

She is THYR. Alas! she was, but is no more:
Now, Damon, now, let thy swoln eyes run o'er :

Each grove, each shade, should with thy praise be Here to this turf by thy sad Thyrsis grow,

fill'd,

And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windsor yield.

SPOKEN TO THE QUEEN,

IN TRINITY COLLEGE NEW Court.

THOU equal partner of the royal bed,
That mak'st a crown sit soft on Charles's head;
In whom, with greatness virtue takes her seat,
Meekness with power, and piety with state;
Whose goodness might ev'n factious crowds re-
Win the seditious, and the savage tame; [claim,
Tyrants themselves to gentlest mercy bring,
And only useless is on such a king!
See, mighty princess, see how every breast
With joy and wonder is at once possest:
Such was the joy which the first mortals knew,
When gods descended to the people's view,
Such devout wonder did it then afford,
To see those powers they had unseen ador'd,
But they were feign'd; nor, if they had been true,
Could shed more blessings on the Earth than you:
Our courts, enlarg'd, their former bounds disdain,
To make reception for so great a train:
Here may your sacred breast rejoice to see
Your own age strive with ancient piety;
Soon now, since blest by your auspicious eyes,
To full perfection shall our fabric rise.
Less powerful charms than yours of old could call
The willing stones into the Theban wall,
And ours, which now its rise to you shall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great name shall
grow.

FLORIAN A,

A PASTORAL,

UPON THE DEATH OF HER GRACE MARY DUTCHESS
OF SOUTHAMPTON, 1680.
DAMON.

TELL me, my Thyrsis, tell thy Damon, why
Does my lov'd swain in this sad posture lie?

And, when my streams of grief too shallow flow, Let-in thy tide to raise the torrent high,

Till both a deluge make, and in it die.

DAM. Then, that to this wish'd height the flood might swell,

Friend, I will tell thee.-THYR. Friend, I thee will tell,

How young, how good, how beautiful she fell.
Oh! she was all for which fond mothers pray,
Blessing their babes when first they see the day.
Beauty and she were one, for in her face
Sat sweetness temper'd with majestic grace;
Such powerful charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet such attractive goodness as might draw
The humblest, and to both give equal law.
How was she wonder'd at by every swain!
The pride, the light, the goddess of the plain!
On all she shin'd, and spreading glories cast
Diffusive of herself, where-e'er she past,
There breath'd an air sweet as the winds that blow
From the blest shores where fragrant spices grow:
Ev'n me sometimes she with a smile would grace,
Like the Sun shining on the vilest place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the delight
Of feasting on her eyes my longing sight:
But to a being so sublime, so pure,
Spar'd my devotion, of my love secure.

[bright,

DAM. Her beauty such: but Nature did design That only as an answerable shrine To the divinity that's lodg'd within. Her soul shin'd through, and made her form so As clouds are gilt by the Sun's piercing light. In her smooth forehead we might read exprest The even calmness of her gentle breast: And in her sparkling eyes as clear was writ The active vigour of her youthful wit. Fach beauty of the body or the face Was but the shadow of some inward grace. Gay, sprightly, cheerful, free, and unconfin'd, As innocence could make it, was her mind; Yet prudent, though not tedious nor severe, Like those who, being dull, would grave appear; Who out of guilt do cheerfulness despise, And, being sullen, hope men think them wise.

How would the listening shepherds round her | throng,

To catch the words fell from her charming tongue!
She all with her own spirit and soul inspir'd,
Her they all lov'd, and her they all admir'd.
Ev'n mighty Pan, whose powerful hand sustains
The sovereign 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 solemn mourning When Pan himself and fair Louisa weep? [keep, When those blest eyes, by the kind gods design'd To cherish Nature, and delight mankind,

All drown'd in tears, melt into gentler showers
Than April-drops upon the springing flowers?
Such tears as Venus for Adonis shed,
When at her feet the lovely youth lay dead?
About her, all her little weeping Loves
Ungirt her cestos, and unyok'd her doves.

[come,

[shed

DAM. Come, pious nymphs, with fair Louisa And visit gentle Floriana's tomb; And, as ye walk the melancholy round, Where no unhallow'd feet prophane the ground, With your chaste hands fresh flowers and odours About her last obscure and silent bed; Still praying, as ye gently move your feet, "Soft be her pillow, and her slumber sweet!" THYR. See where they come, a mournful lovely As ever wept on fair Arcadia's plain : Louisa, mournful far above the rest, In all the charms of beauteous sorrow drest; Just are her tears, when she reflects how soon A beauty, second only to her own, Flourish'd, look'd gay, was wither'd, and is gone! DAM. O, she is gone! gone like a new-born flower,

[train

That deck'd some virgin queen's delicious bower;
Torn from the stalk by some untimely blast,
And 'mongst the vilest weeds and rubbish cast:
Yet flowers return, and coming springs disclose
The lily whiter, and more fresh the rose;
But no kind season back her charms can bring,
And Floriana has no second spring.

THYR. O, she is set! set like the falling Sun;
Darkness is round us, and glad day is gone!
Alas! the Sun that's set, again will rise,
And gild with richer beams the morning-skies ;
But Beauty, though as bright as they it shines,
When its short glory to the west declines,
O, there's no hope of the returning light;
But all is long oblivion, and eternal night!

[blocks in formation]

Witness these mighty and immortal lines,
Through each of which th' informing genius shines:
Scarce a diviner flame inspir'd the king,
Of whom thy Muse does so sublimely sing:
Not David's self could in a nobler verse
His gloriously-offending son rehearse ;
Though in his breast the prophet's fury met,
The father's fondness, and the poet's wit.

Here all consent in wonder and in praise,
And to the unknown poet altars raise:
Which thou must needs accept with equal joy
As when Æneas heard the wars of Troy,
Wrapt up himself in darkness, and unseen
Extoll'd with wonder by the Tyrian queen.
Sure thou already art secure of fame,
Nor want'st new glories to exalt thy name:
What father else would have refus'd to own
So great a son as godlike Absalom ?

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

GODDESS of rhyme, that didst inspire
The Captain with poetic fire,
Adding fresh laurels to that brow
Where those of victory did grow,
And statelier ornaments may flourish now!
If thou art well recovered since
"The Excommunicated Prince";"
For that important tragedy
Would have kill'd any Muse but thee;
Hither with speed, Oh! hither move;
Pull buskins off, and, since 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 side
His charming fair angelic bride :
Such, or less 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 fairest nymph of all Great Britain!
(Though thee my eyes I never set on)
Blush not on thy great lord to smile,
The second saviour 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 stout a hero as Achilles ;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th' knight of th' Sun,
And is himself a whole romance alone.
Let conscious Flanders speak, and be
The witness of his chivalry.
Yet that's not all, his very word
Has slain as many as his sword:

? A tragedy by Captain Bedloe, 1681.

Though common bullies with their oaths
Hurt little till they come to blows,
Yet all his mouth-granadoes kill,
And save the pains of drawing steel.
This hero thy resistless charms
Have won to fly into thy arms;
For think not any mean design,
Or the inglorious itch of coin,
Could ever have his breast control'd,
Or make him be a slave 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 wishing eyes,
Kiss that dear face, where may be seen
His worth and parts that skulk within;
That face, that justly styl'd may be
As true a discoverer as he.
Think not he ever false will prove,
His well-known truth secures his love;
Do you a while divert his cares
From his important grand affairs:
Let him have respite 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 sure be true

As he to all the world and you,

He all your plots will else betray,

All ye She-Machiavels can lay.

He all designs, you know, has found,

Though hatch'd in Hell or under ground;

Oft to the world such secrets shew

As scarce the plotters themselves knew ;

Yet, if by chance you hap to sin,

Like Mars returning from the noble chase

Of flying nations through the plains of Thrace,
When, deck'd with trophies and adorn'd with spoils,
He meets the goddess that rewards his toils!
But, oh! what transports did his heart invade
When first he saw the lovely, royal maid!
Fame, that so high did her perfections raise,
Seem'd now detraction, and no longer praise!
All that could noblest minds to love engage,
Or into softness melt the soldier's rage,
All that could spread abroad resistless fire,
And eager wishes raise, and fierce desire,
All that was charming, all that was above
Ev'n poets fancies, though refin'd by love,
All native beauty, drest by every grace
Of sweetest youth, sat shining in her face!
Where, where is now the generous fury gone,
That through thick troops urg'd the wing'd war-

rior on?

Where now the spirit that aw'd the listed field;
Created to command, untaught to yield?
It yields, it yields, to Anna's gentle sway,
And thinks it above triumphs to obey.
See at thy feet, illustrious princess, thrown
All the rich spoils the mighty hero won!
His fame, his laurels, are thy beauties due,
And all his conquests are outdone by you:
Ah! lovely nymph, accept the noble prize,
A tribute fit for those victorious eyes!
Ah! generous maid, pass not relentless by,
Nor let war's chief by cruel beauty die!

Though unexperienc'd youth fond scruples move,
And blushes rise but at the name of love;
Though over all thy thoughts and every sense
The guard is plac'd of virgin innocence;
Yet from thy father's generous blood we know
Respect for valour in thy breast does glow;

And Love, while Honour's napping, should creep in, 'Tis but agreeing to thy royal birth,

Yet be discreet, and do not boast

O' th' treason by the common post.
So shalt thou still make him love on;
All virtue 's in discretion.

So thou with him shalt shine, 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:
Thou, mighty queen, shalt a whole suit command,
A crown upon thy head, and sceptre in thy hand!

ON THE MARRIAGE OF GEORGE PRINCE OF DENMARK,

AND THE

LADY ANNE.

"TWAS Love conducted through the British main,
On a more high design the royal Dane,
Than when of old with an invading hand
His fierce forefathers came to spoil the land:
And Love has gain'd him by a nobler way,
A braver conquest and a richer prey.

For battles won, and countries sav'd renown'd,
Shaded with laurels, and with honours crown'd,
From fields with slaughter strew'd, the hero came,
Ilis arms neglected, to pursue his flame.

To smile on virtue and heroic worth;
Love, in such noble seeds of honour sown,
The chastest virgin need not blush to own.
Whom would thy royal father sooner find,
In thy lov'd arms to his high lineage join'd,
Than him, whom such exalted virtues crown,
That he might think them copy'd from his own?
Who to the field equal desires did bring,
Love to his brother, service to his king.
Who Denmark's crown, and the anointed head,
Rescued at once, and back in triumph led,
Forcing his passage through the slaughter'd Swede,
Such virtue him to thy great sire commends,
The best of princes, subjects, brothers, friends!
The people's wonder, and the court's delight,
Lovely in peace, as dreadful in the fight!
What can such charms resist? The royal maid,
Loth to deny, is yet to grant afraid;
But Love, still growing as her fears decay,
Consents at last, and gives her heart away.

Now with loud triumphs are the nuptials crown'd,
And with glad shouts the streets and palace sound!
Illustrious pair! see what a general joy
Does the whole land's united voice employ !
From you they omens take of happier years,
Recall lost hopes, and banish all their fears:
Let boding planets threaten from above,
And sullen Saturn join with angry Jove:
Your more auspicious flames, that here unite,
Vanquish the malice of their mingled light!
Heaven of its bounties now shall lavish grow,
And in full tides unenvy'd blessings flow !

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »