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She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'doak | The troubled mind's fantastic dress,

So fierce a shock unable to withstand,
Admits the sea; in at the gaping side
The crowding waves rush with impetuous rage,
Resistless, overwhelming! Horrors seise
The mariners; death in their eyes appears;
They ståre, they rave, they pump, they swear,

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they pray; (Vain efforts!) still the batt'ring waves rush in, Implacable; till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks found'ring in the vast abyss.

§ 98. An Epistle to a Lady. NUGENT. CLARINDA, dearly lov'd, attend The counsels of a faithful friend; Who with the warmest wishes fraught, Feels all, at least, that friendship ought! But since, by ruling Heaven's design, Another's fate shall influence thine; Oh may these lines for him prepare, A bliss, which I would die to share!

Man may for wealth or glory roam But woman must be blest at home; To this should all her studies tend, This her great object and her end. Distaste unmingled pleasures bring, And use can blunt Affliction's sting; Hence perfect bliss no mortals know, And few are plung'd in utter woe : While Nature, arm'd against Despair, Gives pow'r to mend, or strength to bear; And half the thought content may gain, Which spleen employs to purchase pain.

Trace not the fair domestic plan
From what you would, but what you can!
Nor, peevish, spurn the scanty shore,
Because you think you merit more!
Bliss ever differs in degree,

Thy share alone is meant for thee;
And thou should'st think, however small,
That share enough, for 'tis thy all :
Vain scorn will aggravate distress,
And only make that little less.

Admit whatever trifles come;
Unites compose the largest sum :
Oh tell them o'er, and say how vain
Are those who form Ambition's train;
Which ch swell the monarch's gorgeous state,
And bribe to ill the guilty great!
But thou, more blest, more wise than these,
Shalt build up happiness on case.
Hail, sweet Content! where joy serene
Gilds the mild soul's unruffl'd scene;
And, with blithe Fancy's pencil wrought,
Spreads the white web of flowing thought,
Shines lovely in the cheerful face,
And clothes cach charm with pative grace;
Effusion pure of bliss sincere,
A vestment for a god to wear.
Far other ornaments compose
The garb that shrouds dissembled woes,
Piec'd out with motley dyes and sorts,
Freaks, whimsies, festivals, and sports :

Which madness titles Happiness; While the gay wretch to revels bears The pale remains of sighs and tears; And seeks in crowds, like her undone, What only can be found in one.

But chief, my gentle friend! remove Far from thy couch seducing Love: Oh shun the false magician's art, Nor trust thy yet unguarded heart! Caarm'd by his spells fair Honor flies, And thousand treach'rous phantoms rise; Where Guilt in Beauty's ray beguiles, And Ruin lurks in Friendship's smiles.

Lo!

where th' enchanting captive dreams Of warbling groves and purling streanis; Of painted meads, of flow'rs that shed Their odors round her fragrant bed. Quick shifts the scene, the charin is lost, She wakes upon a desert coast; No friendly hand to lend its aid, No guardian bow'r to spread its shade; Expos'd to ev'ry chilling blast, She treads th' inhospitable waste; And down the drear decline of life Sinks, a forlorn, dishonor'd wife. Neglect not thou the voice of Fame, But, clear from crime, be free from blame Tho' all were innocence within, 'Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin; Virtue rejects the foul disguise : None merit praise who praise despise. Slight not, in supercilious strain, Long practis'd modes, as low or vain! The world will vindicate their cause, And claim, blind faith in Custom's laws.. | Safer with multitudes to stray, Than tread alone a fairer way; To mingle with the erring throng, Than boldly speak ten millions wrong.. Beware of the relentless train Who forms adore, who forms maintain! Lest prudes demure, or coxcombs lond, Accuse thee to the partial crowd; Foes who the laws of honor slight, A judge who measures guilt by spite. Behold the sage Aurelia stand, Disgrace and fame at her command; As if Heaven's delegate design'd, Sole arbiter of all her kind. Whether she try some favor'd piece By rules devis'd in antient Greece; Or whether, modern in her flight, She tells what Paris thinks polite: For much her talents to advance, She studied Greece, and travell'd France; There learn'd the happy art to please With all the charms of labor'd ease; Thro' looks and nods, with meaning fraught, To teach what she was never taught. By her each latent spring is seen; The workings foul of secret spleen; The guilt that skulks in fair pretence; Or folly veil'd in specious sense

Aad

And much her righteous spirit grieves,
When worthlessness the world deceives;
Whether the erring crowd commends
Some patriot sway'd by private ends;
Or husband trust a faithless wife,
Secure, in ignorance, from strife.
Averse she brings their deeds to view,
But justice claims the rig'rous due;
Humanely anxious to produce
At least some possible excuse.
Oh ne'er may virtue's dire disgrace
Prepare a triumph for the base!

Mere forms the fool implicit sway,
Which witlings with contempt survey;
Blind folly no defect can see,
Half wisdom views but one degree.
The wise remoter uses reach,
Which judgement and experience teach.
Whoever would be pleas'd and please,
Must do what others do with ease.
Great precept, undefin'd by rule,
And only learn'd in Custom's school;
To no peculiar form contin'd,
It spreads thro' all the human kind;
Beauty, and wit, and worth supplies,
Yet graceful in the good and wise.
Rich with this gift, and none beside,
In Fashion's stream how many glide!
Secure from ev'ry mental woe,
From treach'rous friend or open foe;
From social sympathy, that shares
The public loss or private cares;
Whether the barb'rous foe invade,
Or Merit pine in Fortune's shade.

Hence gentle Anna, ever gay,
The same to-morrow as to-day,
Save where, perchance, when others weep,
Her cheek the decent sorrow steep;
Save when, perhaps, a melting tale
O'er ev'ry tender breast prevail :
The good, the bad, the great, the small,
She likes, she loves, she honors all.
And yet, if sland'rous malice blame,
Patient she vields a sister's fanme.
Alike if satire or if praise,
She says whate'er the circle says;
Impheit does whate'er they do,
Without one point in wish or view.
Sure test of others, faithful glass,
Thro' which the various phantoms pass.
Wide blank, unfeeling when alone;
No eare, no joy, no thought her own.
Not thus succeeds the peerless dame,
Who looks and talks, and acts for fame;
Intent so wide her cares extend,
To make the universe her friend.
Now with the gay in frolics shines,
Now reasons deep with deep divines:
With courtiers now extols the great,
With patriots sighs o'er Britain's fate :
Now breathes with zealots holy fires,
Now melts in less refin'd desires:
Doom'd to exceed in each degree,
Too wise, too weak, too proud, too free,

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§99. Alexander's Feast; or the Power of Music. An Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. DRYDEN. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound; So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais by his side
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy, pair;
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove:
Who left his blissful seats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belied the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign

of the world.

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Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he
Bacchus, ever fair and young, [comes!
Drinking joys did first ordain:
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice

he slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise:
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful Muse,

Soft pity to infuse :
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fall'n, falin, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcast look the joyless victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a sigh he stole;
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smil'd to see
That love was in the next degree :
'Twas but a kindred sound to move;
For pity melts the mind to love.'

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.
War he sung his toil and trouble;
Honor but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying:
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee,

The many rend the skies with loud applause; So love was crown'd, but music won the cause, The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
Now strike the golden lyre again;
And louder, yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal
Hark, hark, the horrid sound
Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, he stares around!

of thunder.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

See the furies arise,
See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in the air,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand,

[slain

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were
And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain;
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew:

Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!-
The Princes applaud, with a furious jou;
And the King seis'd a lambeau with zeal, to
[destroy;

Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.
Thus, long ago,

Ere heavenly bellows learnt to blow,
While organs vet were mute;
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre

[sire

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft de
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, [before,
Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

§ 100. An Epistle from Mr. Phillips to the
Earl of Dorset. Copenhagen, March 9, 1700,
FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow,
From streams that northern winds forbid to

flow.

What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring,
Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing?
The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects that to verse invite.
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flow'ry plains, and silver streaming floods
By snow disguis'd, in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring,
No birds within the desert region sing.
The ships, unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy,
The vast Leviathan wants room to play,
While rattling chariots d'er the ocean fly.
And spout his waters in the face of day.
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
For many a shining league the level main,
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain:
There solid billows, of enormons size,
Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise,
And yet but lately have I seen, e'en here,
The winter in a lovely dress appear.

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Ere

Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds begun thro' hazy skies to blow, At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose; And the descending rain unsullied froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view The face of nature, in a rich disguise, And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes : For ev'ry shrub, and ev'ry blade of grass, And ev'ry pointed thørn, seem'd wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, While thro' the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick-sprung reeds the wat'ry marshes yield Seem polish'd lances in a hostile field. 'The flag, in limpid currents, with surprise Sees crystal branches on his forehead risé. The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ringpine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine. The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, That wave and glitter in the distant sun. When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies: The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends; Or, if a southern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller a miry country sees,

And journey sad beneath the dropping trees.

Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads; While here enchanting gardens to him rise, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue; And, while he thinks the fair illusion true, The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear, A tedious road the weary wretch returns,

And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.

§101. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE.

AH! what avails the lengthening ricad,
By Nature's kindest bounty spread

Along the vale of flow'rs!
Ah! what avails the darkening grove,
Or Philomel's melodious love,

That glads the midnight hours!

For me, alas! the god of day,
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn spray,
Nor night her comfort brings:
I have no pleasure in the rose;
For me no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela sings.

See how the sturdy peasants stride.
Adown yon hillock's verdant side,
In cheerful ign'rance blest!
Alike to them the rose or thorn,
Alike arises every morn,

By gay contentment drest.

Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Or gives spontaneous, or denies,
Her choice divinely free:

She visits oft the hamlet cot,
When Want and Sorrow are the lot
Of Avarice and me.

But see-or is it Fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celestial gleam

Shot sudden thro' the groves;
Behold, behold, in loose array,
Euphrosyne, more bright than day,

More mild than Paphian doves! Welcome, oh welcome, Pleasure's queen! And see, along the velvet green

The jocund train advance: With scatter'd flow'rs they fill the air; The wood-nymph's dew-bespangled hair Plays in the sportive dance. Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven, When to the feeling wretch is given A soul alive to joy! Joys fly with every hour away, And leave th' unguarded heart a prey To cares that peace destroy. And see, with visionary haste (Too soon) the gay delusion past, Reality remains! Despair has seis'd my captive soul.; And horror drives without control, And slackens still the reins.

Ten thousand beauties round me throng;.
What beauties, say, ye nymphs, belong

To the distemper'd soul ?
I see the lawn of hideous dye;
The towering elm nods misery;
With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Persia's looms,

Ye were for misery made.-
'Twas thus, the Man of Sorrow spoke;
Ilis wayward step then pensive took
Along th' unhallow'd shade.

§ 102. Monody to the Memory of a Young Lady SHAW.

YET do I live? Oh how shall I sustain
This vast unutterable weight of woe?
This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain,
Or all the complicated ills below ?

She, in whose life my hopes were treasur'd all,

Is gone for ever fled -
My dearest Emma's dead;

These eyes, these tear-swoln eyes beheld her fall.
Ah no-she lives on some far happier shore,
She lives-but (cruel thought!) she lives for

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Come then, some Muse, the saddest of the train
(No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays)
Teach me each moving melancholy strain,
And ob discard the pageantry of phrase:
Ill suits the flow'rs of speech with woes like mine!

Thus, haply, as I paint
The source of iny complaint,

My soul may own th' impassion'd line:
A Hood of tears may gush to my relief, [of grief.
And from my swelling heart discharge this load
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear

To wound my ears with the sad tales you tell;
"How good she was, low gentle, and how fair!"
In pity cease-alas! I know too well
How in her sweet expressive face
Bean'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,

Of maumers most engaging, most refin'd! No piteous object could she see,

But her soft bosom shar'd the woe,

While smiles of affability
Endear'd whatever boon she might bestow.
Whate'er th' emotions of her heart,

Still shone conspicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to disguise :

And, oh the boast how rare!
The secret in her faithful breast repos'd
She ne'er with lawless tongue disclos'd,

In secret silence lodg'd inviolate there.

Oh feeble words - unable to express
Her matchless virtues, or my own distress!

Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe, With murd'rous hands deals havoc on mankind.

Why (cruel!) strike this deprecated blow,
And leave such wretched multitudes behind?
Hark! groans come wing'd on ev'ry breeze!
The sons of grief prefer their ardent vow,
Oppress'd with sorrow, want, or dire disease,
And supplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain-perverse, still on th' unweeting head
"Tis thine thy vengeful darts to shed;
Hope's infant blossoms to destroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.

But oh, fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
When Virtue shall renounce thy pow'r;

But, ah! in vain-no change of time or The memory can efface [place

Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air, Now lost; and nought remains but anguish and despair.

Where were the delegates of Heav'n, oh where Appointed Virtue's children safe to keep? Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,

She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep: Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd, To see or force th' endearing smile, My sorrows to beguile, When Torture's keenest rage she prov'd; Sure they had warded that untimely dart, Which broke her thread of life, and rent a

husband's heart.

How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour, When, feeling Death's resistless pow'r,, My hand she press'd, wet with her falling tears, And thus, in falt'ring accents, spoke her fears: "Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er, "And we must part, alas! to meet no more! "But oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear, "If e'er thy vows have chara'd my ravish'd

"

ear;

"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain, "Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune

"smil'd in vain; "If it has been my sole endeavour still "To act in all obsequious to thy will; "To watch thy very siniles, thy wish to know, "Then only truly blest when thou wert so; "If I have doated with that fond excess, "Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less; "If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind "To the dear lovely babe I leave behind. "When time my once-lov'd memory shall efface, "Some happier maid may take thy Emma's

"place, "With envious eyes thy partial fondness see, "And hate it, for the love thou bor'st to me:

"

My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears; "But one word more - I cannot bear thy tears"Promise-and I will trust thy faithful vow "(Oft have I tried, and never found thee true) "That to some distant spot thou wilt remove "This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love, "Where safe thy blandishments it may partake, "And, oh! be tender, for its mother's sake. "Wilt thou?

"I know thou wilt-sad silence speaks assent, "Aud, in that pleasing hope, thy Emma dies

"content."

I, who with more than manly strength have bore The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate, Sustain the firmness of my soul no more, But sink beneath the weight:

[Jay

When thou no more shall blot the face of day, Just Heav'n! I cried, from memory's earliest

Misfortune still, with unrelenting sway,

Nor mortals treinble at thy rigid sway. Alas the day!-where'er I turn my eyes,

Nocomfort has thy wretched suppliant known

Some sad memento of my loss appears; I fly the fatal house-suppress my sighs, Resolv'd to dry my unavailing tears:

Has claim'd me for her own.
But oh! in pity to my grief, restore
This only source of bliss; lask - I ask no more

Vain

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