High o'er his head was held a starry crown, Emblem of royalty and princely might: His priesthood was by golden mitre shown; An eagle young, with e'yn most piercing-bright, To prove the prophet drank the distant light. But strangest was to see a bloody hand Uprear a cross, the cross with blood bedight': Ten thousand angels, flutt'ring in a band, Admir'd the mystic sign but cou'd not understand. Now dulcet symphonies, and voices meet, Mellifluous stole upon the shepherd's car, Which swell'd so high and dy'd away so sweet, As might have charm'd a seraph from his sphere. Happy the swain that mote such music hear! Eftsoons a joyous fellowship was seen Of ladies gent 3, and beauties without peer4, As they a train of goddesses had been, In manner of a mask, radiant along the green. Faith led the van, her mantle dipt in blue, Steady her ken, and gaining on the skies; Obedient miracles around her flew: She pray'd, and Heav'n burst open on her eyes, And golden valves roll'd back in wond'rous wise: And now some hill, with all its shaggy load Of trees and flocks, unto the ocean hies: Now wings of cherubs, flaming all abroad, Careering on the winds in sight upbear their god. Next Hope, the gayest daughter of the sky! Her nectar-dewed locks with roses bound; An Eden flourish'd where she cast her eye, And flocks of Sports and Joys, their temples crown'd, [ground. Plum'd their bright wings, and thump'd the hollow Grief gladden'd, and forgot to drop a tear At her approach; ne Sorrow mote be found, Ne rueful-looking Drad 7, ne pale-ey'd Care; And 'neath her chariot wheels she crush'd'hellblack Despair. Then Charity full-zon'd, as her beseems, Her breasts were softer ivory, her hair Play'd with the sunny rays in amber streams, And floated wanton on the buxom air; As Mercy kind, as Hope divinely fair. Her soul was flame, and with prolific rays The nations warm'd, all-bright withouten glare. Both men and angels, as she passes, gaze, [praise. But chief the poor, the lame, the blind, the naked, The train of Virtues next, a dainty train! Advance their steps, sweet daughters of delight, Awfully sweet, majestically plain! Celestial Love, as e'yn of seraphs bright, And spotless as their robes of new-spun light. Truth, simple as the love-sick village-maid; Health-blooming Temperance, a comely wight 3: Humility, in homely weeds array'd, And by her, in a line, an asses-colt she led. But hark, the jolly pipe, and rural lay! Sweet-smelling flow'rs the gentle votaries bring, [head. Jocund to lead the way, with sparkling rays, Danc'd a star-errant up the orient sky; The new-born splendour streaming o'er the place, Where Jesus lay in bright humility, Seem'd a fixt star unto the wond'ring eye: Three seers unwist 9 the captain-glory led, Of awful semblance1, but of sable die1. Full royally along the lawn they tread, And each with circling gold embraved3 had his Low, very low on bended knee they greet The virgin-mother, and the son adore, The son of love! and kiss his blessed feet; Then ope the vases and present their store, Gold, frankincense and myrrh; what cou'd they For gold and myrrh a dying king divine4; [more! The frankincense, from Arab's spicy shore, Confess'd the God; for God did in him shine: Myrrh, frankincense and gold, God-man, were meetly thine. And last, triumphant on a purple cloud, Fleecy with gold, a band of angels ride: They boldly sweep their lyres, and, hymning loud, The richest notes of harmony divide; Scarce Thomalin the rapture cou'd abide: And ever and anon the babe they eye, And through the fleshly veil the God descry'd, Shrill hallelujahs tremble up the sky: [reply. “Good-willand peace to man," the choirs in Heav'n They ended: and all nature soon was chang'd! O'er diamond-pebbles ran the liquid gold: And side by side the lamb and lion rang'd The flow'ry lawn. The serpent gently roll'd His glistering spires, and playful tongue outloll'd To lick the infant-hand. Together fed The wolf and kid, together sought a fold. The roses blush'd with more celestial red; Hell groan'd through all her dens; and grim Death dropp'd down dead. Whilom 5 these scenes the tuneful Twick'nham 4 Without equal. 6 Might. $ Person. THE LOVER. SINCE Stella's charms, divinely fair, If such the mournful moments prove, I meet my bosom-friends with pain, If such the mournful moments prove, Tho' Nature's volume open lies, Er'n Poetry's ambrosial dews But should the yielding virgin smile, If such the rapt'rous moments prove, The business of my future days, Poets shall wonder at my love, Old age shall burn as bright as youth, THE LOVER'S NIGHT. LULL'D in the arms of him she lov'd With smiles; and thus, enamour'd, sings. "How sweet are lover's vows by night, "Soft as the silent-footed Dews "To hear our vows the Moon grows pale, "The silver-sounding shining spheres, ΤΟ Α FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. AN ODE. AUSPICIOUS Sprung the morning into light, The Muse observ'd the fond approaching hour, "Fair issuing, down the hill I see her move, "I own the radiant magic of her eyes, "A husband is a venerable name! "O blest with gentle manners, graceful ease; "Riches and honours wait on either name: "When such the wonders both of form and mind, Thus far the Muse. When Hymen, from the sky, ON THE DEATH OF MR. WEARING, THE FAMOUS MUSICIAN AT OXFORD. Not gone to seek his wife, but gone, We find the Sisters three are deaf, Since Wearing now is dead; For had the Fates but heard his strings, They wou'd have spar'd his thread. Death heard his notes, and heard well-pleas'd, So drew his fatal lance; Death will keep holyday; and he Must play to Holben's dance. ADVERTISEMENT. THE following tale is related by Pausanias, in Achaicis, Græciæ, lib. 7.; but instead of giving the original, or the Latin version by Romulus Amasæus (both which the learned reader may find in the edition published by Joach. Kuhnius in fol. Lipsiæ, 1696, pag. 575), I shall content myself with the translation of the story into English, as it is done from the Greek in the learned and ingenious travels of sir G. Wheeler : which book, upon many accounts, deserves to be reprinted and made more common. "Coresus, the priest of Bacchus, fell in love with a fair virgin of Calydon, called Callirhoe; who the more she was courted, the more she despised the priest; so that neither his rich presents, vows, nor tears could move her to the least compassion. This, at last, made the priest | run in despair to the image of Bacchus for succour, imploring vengeance from him. Bacchus made it appear that he heard his prayers, by a disease he sent on the town; which seemed a kind of drunken madness, of which mad fit people died in abundance. Whereupon they sent deputies from Calydon to the oracle of Jupiter of Dodona, to know what they should do to be freed from that woeful malady. Answer was given, that Coresus must sacrifice Callirhoe, or some other person, that would dedicate himself in her stead, to appease the anger of Bacchus. The virgin, when she could no way obtain her life of her relations, was brought to the altar, adorned as victims used to be, to be sacrificed by her lover Coresus: whose wonderful love, even at that present, so conquered all past thoughts of revenge, that instead of her he slew himself: the virgin also, relenting of her cruelty to him, went and slew herself at a fountain near the town, from thence called by her name, Callirhoe." Thus far sir George Wheeler. See his Journey into Greece, fol. book iv. page 292. I shall only add that the ancient customs, particularly of the orgia or rites of Bacchus, and of the sacrifice, are alluded to, and carefully observed, in the several parts of this little poem. HIGH in Achaia, splendid from afar, A thousand lovers from th' Olenian hill, Did he not practise? But in vain. And now And piny torch (O were it Hymen's!) ting'd Open'd the festival-Loose to the winds, Dishevell❜d, bare, the virgins give their necks And wanton hair. "Eve!" they mad❜ning cry, And shake their torches. "Evæ! Io!" rends The air, and beats the echoing vault of Heav'n. The hills, the vales with Io! Eve! ring. The temple opens to the sacred throng; When foremost enters, as in dress and charms, Callirhoe, so in speed. Their lovers wait, His beauteous mistress each. High on a throne With burning expectation, to enfold Coresus blaz'd in jewels and in gold, More charming in himself. Quick with his eye He catch'd Callirhoe, and, descending, clasp'd A thousand vows he breath'd, and melting things With eager transport her reluctant waist. He spoke and look'd; but to the rocks and wind. What could he more? Yes more he did: for what, Neglectful of his dignity he sunk What can't a lover, like Coresus, do ? (Still love disdains what dignity demands, O'er Jupiter himself supreme) he sunk, As to his God. He dy'd upon her hand And trembled at her feet, with prostrate zeal, With sighing languishment: he gaz'd his soul At every ardent glance into her eyes; Most eloquently silent! O'er his cheek The gushing tears, in big, round drops, diffus'd The dews of passion, and the brain's soft show'r, Potent to warm the most obdurate breast, Tho' cold as marble. Idle were his tears, His glances, languishment, and prostrate zeal. Disdainful-frowning: "Hence," she cry'd, With thy capricious rudeness. Shall the priest To interrupt my progress in the rites ["nor dare The mysteries of Bacchus thus profane, In his own temple too? And rather pay To Venus his devotion, than his God?" Then, haughty as away she turn'd, he grasp'd Her knees; upon her garments flowing train Shivering he hung: and with beseeching eyes, Thus, from the abundance of his heart, complain'd: "If pity be no stranger to thy breast, (As sure it should not to a breast like thine, Soft as the swanny down!) relenting, hear; In feelingness of spirit, mildly lend Attention to the language of my heart, Sick with o'er-flowing tenderness and love. I love thee with that innocence of truth, That purity of passion and desire Unutterable, of bequeathing up My heart, my life, my all into thy hands, Into thy gentle custody;-that all, My heart, my life, are bitterness and weight Of agony without thee. Since I first, (By Bacchus' self I swear) beheld that face, And nameless magic of those radiant eyes, All the foundation of my peace gave way: While hopes and fears rose up in bosom-war To desolate the quiet of my days. Thy dear idea was my fancy's dream; It mingled with my blood; and in my veins Throbb'd, undulating, as my life were stung. I live but on the thought of thee; my breast Here, interrupted by the swelling storm To which her frowns were innocent; and thus: "Thy staggering Pow'r, and thee I scorn alike; H'm I despise, for choosing thee his priest; Thee, for thy arrogance and courtship vile." Indignant he, in wrathful mood (alarm'd More at his god revil'd, than scorn for him) First casting on the ground his mitred-crown, With hands and eyes uplifted, ardent, pray'd: Offspring of Jove, Eva Lyæus, hear! If e'er these hands with ivy wreaths thy brow Circled, and twining tendrils of the vine: If e'er my grateful tongue, big with thy praise, If e'er thy servant on thy altars pour'd, Avenge thy priest; this cursed race destroy : Till they confess this staggering pow'r a god.” The frantic crowd, as if with wine possest, Amaz'd, confounded at the raging pest, Obsequious, they haste: inquire: return: "The rage of Bacchus for his injur'd priest, Coresus, by Callirhoe's scorn repuls'd, Your city wastes: and with funereal fires Your streets shall redden, formidably bright, Till by Coresus' hand the cruel maid A sacrifice be offer'd up: or one, Free, uncompell'd, embrace the destin'd steel, Devoted in her stead; and bleed for her. So you'll appease the god; the plague be stay'd." They said. Staring affright, and dumb amaze The fathers seize: but chief, Eneùs, thee, Callirhoe's old miserable sire! Tenfold affliction to the grave weighs down Soon through the city spread the news, and soon Wounded Callirhoe's ear. Her spindle drops Neglected from her hand. Prone on the floor, She falls, she faints; her breath, her colour fled: What pangs, unhappy maid, thy bosom tear, Sleepless, and sad? relenting now too late, Thy stubborn cruelty. Coresus' charms Blaze on thy mind; his unexampled love, His every virtue rising to thy thought. Just in his fury, see the pointed steel Waves, circling, o'er thy throbbing breast: he He riots in thy blood with dire delight; [strikes; Insatiate! He gluts his heart of rage With thy warm gushing life; and death enjoys, Redoubling wound on wound, and blow on blow. Thus pass'd her hours. And now the dewy morn The mountains tipp'd with gold, and threatened Without the city gates, a fountain wells [day. Its living waters, clear as shining glass: Haunt of the Nymphs! A cypress' aged arms Threw round a venerable gloom, and seem'd Itself a grove. An altar on the brink Convenient rose: for holy custom wills Each victim to be sprinkled with its streams, New from pollution, worthier of the god. Fierce for the sacrifice, Coresus here Waited; and, stimulated with revenge, He curs'd and chid the lazy-circling hours Too slow, as if injurious to his hate. But soon the gath'ring crowd and shouts proCallirhoe near. Her weeping damsels lead [claim The destin'd offering, lovely in distress, And sparkling through her tears. A myrtle crown With roses glowing, and selected green, Th' ambrosial plenty of her golden hair Entwine: in looks, a Venus; and a Grace In motion. Scarce the flow'rs of sixteen springs The fields had painted, since Æneùs first Fondled his babe, and blest her on his knee. Ev'n mountain-clowns, who never pity knew, Relented, and the hardest heart wept blood, Subdu'd by beauty, tho' the fatal source Of all their misery. What tumults then Roll in thy breast, Coresus! while thy hands The purifying waters on her head Pour'd trembling; and the sacred knife unsheath'd! Wiping the silver-streaming tears away, She with a look nor cheerful, nor dismay'd, |