POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
[Price One Shilling and Sixpence.]
POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. WRITTEN by a Young LADY.
LONDON:
Printed for, and Sold by S. PATERSON, at
Shakespear
's
Head,
opposite
Durham-Yard,
in the
Strand.
MDCCXLVII.
TO The RIGHT HONOURABLE the Lady ISSABELLA FINCH, First Lady of the Bed-Chamber to their ROYAL HIGHNESSES the PRINCESSES.
MADAM,
THAT I presume to lay the following Trifles at your Ladyship's Feet, is not so much the Ambition of having a Patroness distinguish'd for so many shining Qualities as your Ladyship, as to have an Opportunity of acknowledging the Obligations you have conferr'd on me.—Yet, Madam, am I truly sensible of the extreme Honour your Protection will afford me, since your Approbation is sufficient to stamp a Value upon my other-ways trifling Performances. Your Ladyship's early Favour and Indulgence, as it was sufficient to satisfy the most boundless Vanity, gives you the strongest Claim to my perpetual Gratitude. Suffer me then, Madam, thus publickly to own your Ladyship's Goodness, and to profess myself with the greatest Respect,
Your LADYSHIP's Most oblig'd and grateful Humble Servant,
CHARLOTTE RAMSAY.
ERRATA.
PAGE 53. Line 2.
add
read
and.
P. 56. l. 2.
tutor'd
read
lectur'd.
P. 62. l. 9.
on
read
one.
P. 64. l. 1.
from
read
form.
P. 65. l. 16.
Suspension
read
Suspicion.
P. 66. l. 4.
unmelting
read
melting.
P. 76. l. 13.
thy
read
its.
P. 77. l. 2.
the pleasing
read
thy soothing.
P. 79. 3.
hunt
read
haunt.
POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
A PASTORAL, FROM THE SONG of
SOLOMON.
OH! tell me, thou who all my Soul inspires,
Source of my Joys, and Partner of my Fires,
By what clear Stream, or nigh what flow'ry Mead
Thy tender Flocks with wanton Pleasure feed:
Where does my Dear, my lovely Wand'rer stray;
Tell me, and guide my weary Steps that Way.
In vain I trace the Plains, each winding Grove;
No Swain directs me to my absent Love:
Close in the Covert of some Shade he lyes;
Some envious Shade conceals him from my Eyes:
Bear then my soft Complainings to his Ear;
Ye whis'pring Winds, let him my Accents hear;
The well-known Sounds will wake the ling'ring Swain,
And bring him panting to my Arms again.
Alas! not yet my cruel Love returns:
I rave; my Breast with jealous Fury burns:
Cold Tremblings seize on ev'ry vital Part;
The Blood runs freezing to my panting Heart;
Dim Shadows swim before my closing Sight,
And my griev'd Soul prepares to take its Flight.
Hark; what sweet Accents breaks the ambient Air;
Sure 'tis my Love's melodious Voice I hear:
Now to my Arms my charming Shepherd flies;
Heaven to my Arms, and Transport to my Eyes.
Oh! on thy panting Breast let me recline,
And let thy folding Arms around me twine;
With Vows of Love my anxious Fears controul,
And whisper Ease to my distracted Soul.
Arise, my Love, the dear Enslaver cries.
My beauteous Maid, my lovely Fair, arise;
For lo, the Rain is o'er, the Winter's past,
And balmy Sweets perfume the southern Blast,
Like thee, all Nature smiles; the Fields around,
Are with a new returning Verdure crown'd:
Hark what sweet Musick fills the vocal Grove;
Each feather'd Songster tunes its Notes to Love:
What Odours do these op'ning Buds exhale,
Yet cannot o'er thy greater Sweets prevail,
Or their enchanting Beauties thine excell.
That Lilly shines but with a borrow'd Grace,
And Roses blush to emulate thy Face;
Nor can the Violet's admired Dye
Match the bright Azure of thy shining Eye;
See where you tread, fresh blooming Flowers arise,
New Charms appear where'er you turn your Eyes;
For thee the Streams in softer Murmurs flow;
For thee sweet Airs the whisp'ring
Zephirs
blow;
For thee the Cedars form a grateful Shade,
And brighter Colours paint th' enamell'd Mead:
Oh! come then thro' these sweet
Meanders
stray;
Arise, my Love; my fair One, come away.
Yes, dearest Object of my soft Desire,
Thou sweet Inspirer of my endless Fire;
With thee I'll trace the Groves, each winding Mead,
And follow where thy charming Footsteps lead:
Yet let me view thee; on that lovely Face
Let me with fond extatic Rapture gaze;
Let thy Voice charm me with its Magick Sound,
And my fond Soul with thrilling Pleasure wound;
For sweet's thy Beauties to my ravish'd Sight,
And thy dear Voice my list'ning Ears delight.
See on that Couch, with Nature's Bounties spread,
At Ease reclin'd, my lovely Shepherd's laid:
What Beauties in that smiling Form appear;
How soft, how mild, how more than heavenly fair.
Ye tender Virgins, awful Silence keep;
Ye sighing Gales prolong his balmy Sleep:
Thou sleep'st, my Love; but still thy waking Heart
Bears in my soft Inquietudes a Part.
My Image ever present with thee seems,
Haunts all thy Slumbers, and informs thy Dreams,
In ev'ry Wish, in ev'ry Thought I'm thine;
And oh! be thou for ever, ever mine.
Behold, he wakes, and here with Transport flies;
What streaming Glories sparkle from his Eyes:
Oh, turn them from me, hide their beauteous Beams;
The Sun with less refulgent Brightness gleams:
Do not such sweet, such magick Rays dispence,
Like pow'rful Sweets they overcome my Sense;
Oh, set me, as a Seal upon thy Heart,
Mark'd for my own, I claim the smallest Part;
Shou'dst Thou (but sure the wounding Thought is vain)
For any other lovely Maid complain;
Take from me, Heav'n, the fleeting Breath you gave,
For Love's as strong as Death, and pow'rful as the Grave.
THE RIVAL NYMPHS. A TALE.
CLarissa
blest with ev'ry Grace,
A Shape divine, and charming Face,
Had triumph'd long o'er many a Swain,
And oft' been woo'd, but woo'd in vain;
Not so
Amanda,
blooming Youth,
Soft Innocence, and artless Truth,
Were all the Beauties she cou'd boast,
Not form'd by Nature for a Toast;
Yet some there were, who in her Mind
A thousand nameless Charms cou'd find:
She lov'd not Visits, Park, or Play,
But mop'd, and read her Time away;
Insensible to a Degree,
Her Heart was all her own, and free;
Yet oft of Love's soft pleasing Pains,
The Nymph wou'd write in melting Strains.
The lambent Flame that warm'd her Breast,
Each tender flowing Line confess'd;
Moneses,
whose enchanting Form
Was one continu'd endless Charm:
To whom indulgent Heav'n had join'd,
All that cou'd beautify a Mind;
Had often own'd bright Beauty's Power,
Had sigh'd and lov'd — for half an Hour.
But yet the lovely Youth confess'd,
Whoe'er could wound his destin'd Breast,
Her Charms must over Time prevail,
Her Wit must please when Beauty fail'd;
Yet since he cou'd not hope to find,
One blest with all those Charms of Mind;
He thought
Clarissa
worth his Care,
And all the Hours he had to spare;
Soft Vows, and tender speaking Eyes,
Pleading Looks, and melting Sighs;
Make the believing Maid approve
His false, but well dissembled Love.
But while
Clarissa
's Charms he own'd,
He with a secret Passion burn'd.
Amanda
found the Way to win
His Heart, and let her Image in;
His Pain the lovely Youth conceals,
All but what his Eyes reveals:
His Eyes, that all his Passion tell,
And speak the Love he felt so well.
Amanda
heard the Youth complain,
She heard and felt an equal Flame;
But still with native Shyness arm'd,
She shuns the lovely Swain she charm'd;
His Looks, his Sighs, his Actions move,
And in soft Language plead for Love.
Clarissa
still exults, and cries,
He's yet a Victim to my Eyes;
He neither will, nor can be free;
Me he still love's, and only Me:
Ah! cease to claim my charming Prize;
Amanda,
to the Fair replies,
Cou'd I,
Clarissa,
cou'd I boast,
The Hearts that to thy Charms are lost,
With Joy I wou'd them all resign,
To keep my lov'd
Moneses
mine.
In vain the Nymph declares her Flame,
Clarissa
still asserts her Claim;
And 'till the lov'd
Moneses
owns,
The conqu'ring Maid for whom he burns;
'Till he'll the happy Fair unfold,
The Sequel must remain untold.
TO A LADY Singing.
STILL sing, bright Maid, nor cease the pleasing Charm,
Each Soul subdue, each tender Bosom warm;
Such magick Sweetness to thy Voice is giv'n,
We hear a Seraph, and we taste of Heav'n:
Strange force of Harmony, whose Power controuls,
The warring Passions, and informs our Souls,
Soft soothing Sounds, by whose enchantment blest,
Anger and Grief forsake the tranquil Breast;
While soft Ideas rising in the Mind,
Bids us in Love a gentle Tyrant find,
And to his Sway the softned Soul's resign'd.
Thus sung the
Thracian
Bard, while all around,
The list'ning Beasts confess'd the magick Sound:
Less sweet the Harmony
Amphion
made,
When dancing Stones mov'd to the Notes he play'd;
Or him, who bore by Dolphins to the Shore,
Made Winds and Waves confess his magick Pow'r:
Thou no less pow'rful o'er the Human Mind,
As great a Triumph from thy Songs can find;
Love and its pleasing Pains at once inspire,
And fix in ev'ry Breast the latent Fire.
A HYMN to
VENUS,
IN IMITATION of
SAPHO.
VENUS, Queen of tender Fires,
Pleasing Pains, and soft Desires;
Sweet Enslaver of the Heart,
Here thy gentle Aid impart;
To my mourning Soul give Ease,
And bid my soft Complainings cease.
II.
Hither beauteous Goddess move,
Leave a while th'
Idalian
Grove;
Once more to my transported Breast,
Come a mild, a grateful Guest;
There confirm thy pleasing Reign,
Free from Cares, and free from Pain.
III.
Oh! if e'er my artless Strains,
By Thee inspired, breath'd thy Pains;
Propitious now thy Suppliant hear,
And grant a Lover's ardent Pray'r?
Ah! let me not despairing mourn,
But meet a kind, a wish'd Return.
IV.
Make
Philander
feel my Pow'r,
Fear my Scorn, my Smiles adore,
Let the dear Deceiver know,
All the Pains he can bestow:
To me that valued Heart resign,
And fix the lovely Wand'rer mine.
AMINTA and DELIA. A PASTORAL.
THEE, gentle Maid, may ev'ry Muse inspire,
And
Phoebus
bless Thee with poetic Fire;
May thy soft Numbers ev'ry Bosom warm,
Melt into Love, and into Softness charm,
Around our peaceful Plains thy Praise is spread,
And Wreaths of Laurel crown thy youthful Head.
May ev'ry Grace and blooming Charm be thine,
And the dear Joys of Peace and Friendship mine:
Aminta
still my grateful Heart shall share,
Tho' lov'd
Philander
's Image triumphs there.
Me gentle
Damon
loves, nor loves in vain,
With Joy I hear the charming Youth complain;
He! only he, to Tenderness can move,
Melt my soft Soul, and charm me into Love:
In vain I wou'd my secret Pain disguise,
He reads my Passion in my artless Eyes.
From Fair to Fair the gay
Philander
rov'd,
Sigh'd without Cause, and for a Moment lov'd;
The charming Wanderer no more I fear,
For me he feels the tender Flame sincere.
Soft as the Breeze which fans the silent Grove,
Are
Damon
's Accents when he talk
of Love;
Too well my fond consenting Looks reveal
The tender Passion I wou'd fain conceal:
Whene'er I hear the lovely Youth complain,
My Sighs and Blushes speak an equal Flame.
With skilful Hand, when my
Philander
plays,
And sings alternately in melting Lays;
The Woods to the soft Harmony resound,
And my Soul dwells on the enchanting Sound.
When my lov'd
Damon
sings, how sweet the Strains;
Ecchoes, repeat them to the distant Plains;
Not
Philomela,
thro' the whisp'ring Trees,
Like that dear Shepherd's tuneful Voice can please.
No Arts I use to vex my faithful Swain,
Nor feign a Passion, nor affect Disdain:
When the dear Youth in plaintive Sounds wou'd move
My yielding Soul to Tenderness and Love;
He sees too well the struggling Passions rise,
Glow in my Cheeks, and Languish in my Eyes,
Knows the soft Meaning of each Look, and steals
The tender Thoughts, which Art in vain conceals.
When
Damon
's absent from my longing Eyes,
A thousand anxious Fears and Sorrows rise;
While to the Murmurs of you falling Stream
I sing, and
Damon
is the charming Theme.
The lovely Object of my soft Desire,
Philander
only can my Songs inspire;
For him my Numbers flow, my Shepherd's Praise
Adorns each Line, and smooths my artless Lays.
ENVY. A SATIRE.
IN
Y—k
's detested Isle, that Foe to Fame,
That Bane of Glory, and a virtuous Name;
Pale Envy dwells, and ev'ry Breast inspires,
With mortal Hatred, and destructive Fires;
Enthron'd She sits, with snaky Honours crown'd,
And deals her impious Power all around;
Deceit, on one hand, stands with cruel Smiles,
Dissembled Truths, and soft successful Wiles;
But, in her Hand, tho' half conceal'd, is view'd,
The pointed Dagger, deep in Rage imbru'd:
Scandal, on t'other hand, like Fame appears,
Alike her Number both of Tongues and Ears:
By these the fairest Reputation dies,
And swift, and sure, the spreading Ruin flies,
Round the fell Pow'r her anxious Votaries throng,
Vain Age contemn'd, and unreguarded Young:
These, who to Virtue, Wit, and Beauty lost;
Here strive to blast the Fame they cannot boast;
Goddess, they cry, if e'er thy Suppliants please,
When Crowds they sacrifice to give thee Ease,
To sooth thy Pains, when some distinguish'd Name,
Rises to blast thee with an honest Fame;
If by the happy Force of fraudful Lies,
Sunk in Oblivion the bright Merit dies;
If spotless Chastity to Shame betray'd;
If charms, when blasted, in the blooming Maid,
Deserve thy Smile,—the pleasing Mischief aid.
Still GODDESS, in our Souls thy Pow'r increase,
And to each pointed Scandal give Success.
Pleas'd, she assents, and now each lab'ring Breast
Is with the baneful Fury's Rage possess'd;
Arm'd with deep Malice each reproachful Tongue
Murders the Fair, the Innocent, and Young;
With doubtful Hints a horrid Sense convey,
And smile a faultless Character away.
But now
Artelia
comes with stealing Pace,
Gentle her Air, but Anguish clouds her Face;
Merit uninjur'd, now demands her Grief,
But future Scandal gives her Soul relief;
Swift thro' the supplicating Crowd she press'd,
And her bad Pray'r in Whispers is address'd:
Goddess, who all my anxious Bosom fires,
Who ev'ry Word and ev'ry Thought inspires;
Still while thy potent Influence I feel,
Let Friendship's soft Disguise my Aims conceal;
And while I spread destructive Scandal round,
Beneath that Masque let me securely wound.
'Tis done — 'tis granted, fly, ye virtuous Few,
Fly e'er her cruel Arts your Fame pursue;
See Justice from the foul Infection flies,
And frighted hence reseeks her native Skies.
Far from the guilty Scene averts her Sight,
Her own
Philander
can't retard her Flight;
Tho' her bright Image, in his Breast he bears,
And all her Beauties in his Form appears;
Tho' in his Soul she lights her heav'nly Flame,
And finds even here a Votary in him.
TO
MONESES
Singing.
BE hush'd as Death,
Moneses
sings,
Moneses
strikes the sounding Strings;
Let sacred Silence dwell around,
And nought disturb the Magick Sound;
Let not the softly whisp'ring Breeze
Sob amidst the rustling Trees;
Murmur, ye plaintive Streams, no more,
But glide in Silence to the Shore:
Even
Philomel
thy Note suspend,
And to a sweeter Song attend;
Ah! soft, ah! dang'rous, pow'rful Charm,
An Angel's Voice, an Angel's Form;
Attentive to the heav'nly Lay,
I hear and gaze my Soul away;
Now tender Wishes, melting Fires,
Infant Pains, and young Desires,
Steal into my softned Soul,
And bend it to the sweet Controul;
Yet, let me fly, e'er 'tis too late,
The sweet Disease, and shun my Fate.
But ah! that softly, dying Strain
Arrests my Steps, I strive in vain.
Again I to the Syren turn,
Again with gentle Fires I burn;
Cease lovely Youth th' inchanting Sound,
Too deep already is the Wound;
Thro' all my Veins the Poison steals,
My Heart the dear Infection feels:
I faint, I die, by love opprest,
The Sigh scarce heaves my panting Breast;
Before my View dim Shadows rise,
And hides Thee from my ravish'd Eyes:
Thy Voice, like distant Sounds, I hear,
It dies in murmurs on my Ear:
In the too pow'rful Transport tost,
Ev'n Thought, and ev'ry Sense is lost.
THE LANGUAGE of the EYES TO LADY
J— F—.
I.
IF forc'd by Tyrant Custom, we
The Anguish of our Souls conceal,
Our Eyes yet boast their Liberty;
Let them the tender Truths reveal;
In soft persuasive Glances speak our Grief,
And from that silent Language find Relief.
II.
Those sweet Betrayers of the Mind,
Can always lend their welcome Aid,
The Thoughts by harsh Restraint confin'd,
By them are all to View betray'd;
The doubtful War, which Hope and Fear maintain'd,
Are by those charming Orators explain'd.
III.
See Anger in that sparkling Eye,
This in soft Shades of Sorrow drest;
Love, smiling Hope, and tender Joy,
In those inchanting Looks exprest;
The conqu'ring Eyes correct the Lover's Heart,
And as they Smile or Frown, their Hopes and Fears impart.
IV.
Ye Fair, who strive with Darts to arm,
The languid Beauties of your Eyes,
Of
Isabellas
learn to charm,
Like hers the ravish'd Soul surprize;
Her Mind does all their glorious Beams dispense,
Bright as they are they owe their Rays to Sense.
To
AURELIA,
on her attempting to write Verses.
LONG had
Aurelia
vainly strove
To write in melting Strains of Love;
Ambitious of a Poet's Name,
She wept, she sigh'd, she long'd for Fame;
While of the great Design possest
She thus the
Delian
God addrest:
Brightest of heavenly Powers above,
Immortal Son of thund'ring
Jove
;
Oh glorious Deity impart
To me the soft poetic Art;
Vouchsafe to me thy sacred Fire,
And with thyself my Soul inspire.
She spake—the God indulgent hears
The beauteous Maid, and grants her Prayers.
On
Clio
turns his radiant Eyes,
And to the tuneful Goddess cries,
Fly hence to fair
Aurelia
's Aid,
In heavenly Strains instruct the Maid:
The Muse obeys the God's Commands
With Joy, and swift as Thought descends,
And at
Aurelia
's Side attends.
Conscious of her new Power, the Maid
With Thanks the glorious Gift repay'd:
Now
Waller
's Sweetness,
Granville
's Fire,
At once her tuneful Breast inspire:
No more she vainly strives to please,
The ready Numbers flow with ease:
All soft, harmonious and divine;
Apollo shines in every Line.
The
Delian
God with Rapture fill'd,
Upon his lovely Pupil smil'd.
Daphne,
his once-lov'd charming Care,
Appear'd to him not half so fair:
For the lost Nymph he mourns no more;
Nor in his Songs her Loss deplore;
But from the slighted Tree he tears
It's Leaves, to deck
Aurelia
's Hairs.
A Poet now by all she's own'd,
And with immortal Honour crown'd.
ON A LADY's Singing.
HOW was I charm'd, when fair
Harmonia
sung!
What heavenly Sweetness dwelt upon her Tongue!
What melting Joys did her soft Song impart!
Oh Pow'r of Musick, on a tender Heart!
While she repeats the Lover's ardent Pains,
My sympathising Soul with her complains:
Soft flow the Tears; the gentle Sorrows rise,
And my full Bosom heaves with strug'ling Sighs:
But when a faithful, generous Pair's her Theme;
When in soft Sounds she sings their mutual Flame,
'Tis then I feel the Lover's soft Excess;
Share in their Joy, and triumph in their Bliss;
Wish I may thus to Tenderness be moved,
And love like them, like them to be belov'd:
Oh say, bright Virgin, by what powerful Art
Thy Song gives real Raptures to the Heart,
And makes the struggling Soul alternate prove
The Joys of true, and Pangs of perjur'd Love:
A Voice less fine than yours the Bard possest,
Whose magick Sweetness moving Trees confest.
On Mortals! thy superior Skill is shown,
And Hearts subdu'd thy greater Power own.
To
FLAVIA,
An ODE.
I.
IF
Flavia
in thy faultless Form
All that is Heavenly-fair we find,
If every Grace conspires to charm,
And speaks the Beauties of thy Mind.
II.
Why shouldst thou wonder, lovely Maid,
At the soft Passions you inspire?
Why those to hopeless Love betray'd,
Or these feel Friendship's sacred Fire?
III.
Heedless thy charming Eyes enslave,
Nor know the smiling Deaths they dart;
Nought can the wretched Gazer save,
Or rescue his devoted Heart.
IV.
But ah to win the Soul is more,
And Friendship's nobler Fires impart,
The Work of some diviner Power,
And Reason wings th' unerring Dart.
V.
Let thy Adorers justly praise
The wond'rous Beauties of thy Face,
Extol thy Charms a thousand Ways,
And with thy Name their Numbers grace.
VI.
Friendship a nobler Theme shall find,
And to th' admiring World display,
The Graces that adorn thy Mind,
A Subject that will ne'er decay.
VII.
When thy bright Eyes shall cease to wound,
And Age thy fading Charms embrace;
When in thy Looks no trace is found,
Of what the lovely
Flavia
was.
VIII.
The lasting Beauties of thy Mind,
The Muse in gentle Strains shall sing,
In thy fair Soul new Charms shall find,
To raise her Voice, and prune her Wing.
A SONG.
I.
WHAT Torments must the Virgin prove
That feels the Pangs of hopeless Love?
What endless Cares must rack the Breast
That is by sure Despair possest.
II.
When Love in tender Bosoms reigns,
With all its soft, its pleasing Pains,
Why should it be a Crime to own
The fatal Flame we cannot shun.
III.
The Soul by Nature form'd sincere,
A slavish forc'd Disguise must wear;
Left the unthinking World reprove
The Heart that glows with generous Love.
IV.
But oh in vain the Sigh's represt,
That gently heaves the pensive Breast;
The glowing Blush, the falling Tear,
The conscious Wish, and silent Fear.
V.
Ye soft Betrayers aid my Flame,
And give my new Desires a Name:
Some Power my gentle Griefs redress,
Reveal, or make my Passion less.
On reading
HUTCHISON
on the
PASSIONS.
THOU who thro' Nature's various Faults can rove,
And shew what Springs the eager Passions move;
Teach us to combat Anger, Grief and Fear,
Recal the Sigh, and stop the falling Tear,
Oh be thy soft Philosophy addrest,
To the untroubled Ear and tranquil Breast:
To these be all thy peaceful Notions taught,
Who idly rove amidst a Calm of Thought:
Whose Soul by Love or Hate were ne'er possest,
Who ne'er were wretched, and who ne'er were blest:
Whose fainter Wishes, Pleasures, Fears remain,
Dreams but of Bliss, and Shadows of a Pain;
Serenely stupid; so some shallow Stream
Flows thro' the winding Valleys still the same:
Whom no rude Wind can ever discompose,
Who fears no Winter Rain, or falling Snows;
But slowly down its flow'ry Borders creeps,
And the soft Zephyr on its Bosom sleeps.
Oh couldst thou teach the tortur'd Soul to know,
With Patience, each Extream of human Woe;
To bear with Ills, and unrepining prove
The Frowns of Fortune, and the Racks of Love:
Still should my Breast some quiet Moments share,
Still rise superior to each threatning Care:
Nor fear approaching Ills, or distant Woes,
But in
Philander
's Absence find Repose.
The
QUESTION.
SINCE freed from Love's enchanting Pains,
Your Heart no longer wears my Chains;
Since the gay Folly charms no more,
And all the dear Delusion's o'er:
Yet tell me,
Damon,
do you prove
In Freedom, Joys so pure as Love?
Alike unfelt its Pains or Sweets,
Your Heart an equal Measure beats:
No longer Hope and Fear maintain
Within your Breast a doubtful Reign:
Unpleas'd, nor caring if you please,
Lost in a dull inactive Ease.
Since then for this you could forego
The Lover's sweetly-pleasing Woe;
Forsake those bright enliv'ning Fires,
Gay Hopes, and elegant Desires;
The mutual Wish, the equal Flame,
The Sorrows, Fears, and Hopes, the same.
Oh say, what Joys can Freedom boast,
Like those sweet Torments you have lost.
The ADVICE, An ODE.
I.
BENEATH a Myrtle's spreading Shade,
The sadly weeping
Delia
lay;
Soft Zephyrs fann'd the pensive Maid,
And wasted every Sigh away.
II.
Dear conscious Stream, she softly cry'd,
Whose plaintive Murmurs sooth my Pain;
How often on thy flow'ry Side
Did
Damon
at my Feet complain?
III.
Reclin'd in yonder silent Grove,
How did the lovely Youth protest
The softest, truest, fondest Love,
That ever warm'd a faithful Breast?
IV.
But ah those Vows no longer bind,
No more my gentle Sway he owns;
For some coy Nymph less fair and kind,
The dear Betrayer sighs and burns.
V.
Thus mourn'd the fair neglected Maid,
When sprightly
Cloe
thither came;
And is it thus, she laughing said,
That
Delia
cures a slighted Flame?
VI.
No more indulge this fruitless Grief;
If
Damon
's false to you and Love,
The God that wounds can bring Relief,
Another may the first remove.
VII.
Believe me, Friend, the cruel Flame,
Which tortures now thy gentle Breast;
The Object chang'd will burn the same,
And you in mutual Love be blest.
VIII.
Strephon,
who all this Time conceal'd,
The Virgin's soft Complaints had heard,
His beauteous Form at length reveal'd,
And thus his tender Vows preferr'd.
IX.
If Love like mine that can endure,
Tho' the dear Object be its Foe;
If Absence nor Disdain can cure
A hopeless Flame that burns in Woe.
X.
If such a pure, a constant Fire,
May hope for Pity in thy Breast,
Strephon
shall still the Heart inspire,
That once receiv'd him for a Guest.
XI.
Delia
no more my Love shall fly,
But with returning Fondness own,
That
Damon
merits less than I,
Who never lov'd but her alone.
XII.
Amaz'd, confus'd, the blushing Maid
Found her wrong'd Lover still the same;
In vain she call'd her Pride to aid
Against the sweet returning Flame.
XIII.
That melting Voice, that heavenly Form,
Those Eyes that shone with soft Desire;
Each Grace inspires her Soul to charm,
And kindle up the latent Fire.
XIV.
Fain she'd her tender Thoughts impart,
Her bashful Tongue the Task denies;
Impatient to be known, her Heart
Gives all its Softness to her Eyes.
XV.
In them soft Wishes stood confest,
Sweet Remorse, and conscious Love;
Every Fear her Soul possest,
And all that cou'd those Fears remove.
XVI.
Convinc'd, o'erjoy'd, the lovely Youth
Saw the reluctant pleasing Pain,
Vows at her Feet eternal Truth,
Blesses her Sway, and hugs his Chain.
ARDELIA
to
FLAVIA,
An EPISTLE.
THOU dearest Object of my fondest Love,
What Words can speak the Misery I prove?
Doom'd as I am by my relentless Fate,
To bear the worst of dreaded Ills, your Hate.
Lov'd tho' thou wert, in every Action just,
Have I not wrong'd thee by unkind Distrust?
Believ'd thee false, when Love and Truth were thine,
And all the tender Joys of Friendship mine?
Wretch that I am, my fatal Crime I know,
And merit all the Anger you can show.
Do hate me, loath me, drive me from your Breast,
That Seat of Softness, Innocence, and Rest!
Bid me my fatal Rashness ever mourn;
Fly my loath'd Sight, and curse me with your Scorn.
But oh! tho' Anger should each Grace transform,
And change to Roughness every smiling Charm:
Tho' those bright Eyes where Love and Sweetness shine,
Shou'd with the coldest Glances look on mine:
Tho' that harmonious, that enchanting Tongue,
Where all the Force of soft Perswasion hung,
Chide me in cruel Sounds, with Fury warm'd,
And wound the Ears it has so often charm'd:
Still wou'd I bear it all, with Patience bear,
And whisper to my Soul your Triumph there.
But sure, in Pity to my tender Pains,
Some Spark of Friendship in thy Breast remains:
To that I'll sue, the languid Flame to raise,
And wake the sleeping Passion to a Blaze:
Try every Art thy Anger to controul,
And watch each yielding Moment in thy Soul;
Some tender Fit of Softness in thy Breast,
When Love's awake, and Anger charm'd to Rest.
For sure my
Flavia
cannot always prove
Deaf to the tender Prayers and Tears of Love.
Oh teach me, thou fair Softness, to atone
For all the Wrongs I've to thy Friendship done.
With thy own Sweetness thy just Rage disarm,
And learn me all thy well-known Power to charm.
Direct me how to make my Vows believ'd,
To move thy Pity, and thy Love retrieve.
Oh with returning Ardour ever bless
The Heart which you, and only you possess.
An
ODE To SLEEP
I.
COME, gentle God of soft Repose,
And charm my Soul to Rest;
In thy Embraces let me lose
The Cares that rack my Breast.
II.
Arise, ye dear Deceits, arise,
And drest in
Damon
's Form,
My long-expecting, wishing Eyes
With his Resemblance charm.
III.
Those melting Sounds still let me hear,
Which did his Flame impart;
Which blest with Love my list'ning Ear,
And pierc'd my yielding Heart.
IV.
Why rove my Thoughts on fancied Bliss
Which only Dreams bestow;
For oh whene'er the Morn appears,
I wake to real Woe.
V.
The envious Light from my sad Eyes,
Drives all my Bliss away;
With Night the lovely Phantom flies,
And leaves me lost in Day.
VI.
Since waking then I am distrest,
And Pleasure's fled with him;
If sleeping I can still be blest,
Let Life be all a Dream.
An
ODE, IN IMITATION
of
SAPHO.
I.
ME the loveliest truest Swain,
Often woo's, but woo's in vain;
Tender, soft, beseeching Eyes,
Pleading Tears, and melting Sighs:
Such soft Pains as Lovers feel,
Such his dying Looks reveal.
II.
Yet by Pride, by Shame with-held,
Every yielding Thought's repell'd:
Scarce the Sigh that heaves my Breast,
Scarce the falling Tear's represt:
Yet may artful Tongue denies
My Love, and contradicts my Eyes.
III.
If then, charming Youth, you'd know
All my Love, and all my Woe;
All my Heart, without Disguise,
Read it in my artless Eyes.
They'll in tender Language tell
What I wou'd in vain conceal.
IV.
There each yielding Thought betray'd,
All my Hopes add Fears display'd:
The soft Flame which warms my Breast,
In each melting Look's confest:
While unstudied Glances prove,
All is Truth, and all is Love.
A SONG.
I.
DAMON
in vain you strive to move;
'Tis true my Heart was form'd for Love,
And own its native Flame.
But such a Flame, so pure a Fire,
Philander
only can inspire,
And all its Softness claim.
II.
No more of cruel Scorn complain,
Too late, alas! you own'd your Pain,
Too late to find a Cure.
If Friendship to your Views be due,
Taste all the Ease that can bestow,
But
Damon
ask no more.
A PARODY ON AN ODE of
HORACE,
As TRANSLATED by Mr.
FARQUHAR.
IN Love, where Cares distract the Mind,
Where Fear to smiling Hope is join'd;
Where Grief the long-sought Joy precedes,
And late Remorse that Joy invades;
Show me among the happiest there,
Who would not wish for Freedom here.
In Freedom, Friend, the Wise delights,
For this the Curtain-tutor'd Nights:
For this she storms the peaceful Man,
And curses nuptial Ties in vain.
Since Love then is too weak to cure
That female Vice, the Thirst of Power;
Happy the Maid who guards her Heart
Against the sweetly-painful Dart:
Who charm'd by Liberty alone,
Will no intruding Passion own.
In Love what can we hope to find.
But Pleasures that leave Stings behind?
Delusive Hopes of Happiness,
Airy Dreams of fancy'd Bliss?
Which shadow-like will disappear,
When the approaching Form comes near.
Cease then to court a certain Ill,
If free at present, keep so still.
Forbear that meaning Glance to throw;
The Dart which meditates the Foe
May back upon thyself recoil,
And catch thee in the artful Toil.
Love o'er the abject Breast may reign,
With all its light fantastic Train
Of Wishes, Cares, and fond Desires,
Fears and Hopes, and jealous Fires;
Be mine from the soft Folly free,
Freedom alone has Charms for me.
The DREAM.
AH stay, fair fleeting Form, I charge thee stay;
Whither, ah whither wouldst thou glide away?
Ardelia
calls thee, lovely cruel Shade!
Ardelia
bids thee stay, thy once lov'd Maid!
Alas! in vain I call, for see he flies;
Flies my fond clasping Arms, and ardent Eyes.
Not all my Prayers can the lov'd Form detain:
My Sighs, my Tears, my Wishes are in vain.
In gentle Slumbers,
Morpheus,
close my Eyes,
And bid once more the lovely Phantom rise.
Bid him in all those heavenly Charms appear;
That melting Softness, that engaging Air,
In that too powerful Sorrow let him shine,
When first he gave his Heart and conquer'd mine.
Hence then, ye Sorrows, from the fancied Scene,
Despairs, eternal Sighs, and secret Pain,
Shall wound no more, no Thought my Bliss destroy;
No happy Rival interrupt my Joy:
For oh! whate'er my cruel Fates Design,
In Sleep
Philander
can be only mine.
A SONG.
I.
IN Vain I strive with Female Art,
To hide the Motions of my Heart;
My Eyes my secret Flame declare,
And
Damon
reads his Triumph there.
II.
When from his fond, his ardent Gaze,
With Frowns I turn aside my Face;
My Cheeks with conscious Blushes glow,
And all my Soul's Disorder show.
III.
Or when with seeming Scorn I hear
The Youth his tender Vows prefer;
From my fond Breast reluctant steals
A Sigh, and all the Truth reveals.
IV.
Oh Love, all-powerful o'er the Mind,
Art thou to rigid rules confin'd?
And must the Heart that owns thy Sway,
That Tyrant Customs Laws obey?
V.
Oh! let me break the cruel Chain,
And freely own my tender Pain:
By harsh Restraint no longer sway'd,
Confirm whate'er my Eyes have said.
The
ART
of
COQUETTRY.
YE lovely Maids, whose yet unpractis'd Hearts
Ne'er felt the Force of Love's resistless Darts;
Who justly set a Value on your Charms,
Power all your Wish, but Beauty all your Arms:
Who o'er Mankind wou'd fain exert your Sway,
And teach the lordly Tyrant to obey.
Attend my Rules to you alone addrest,
Deep let them sink in every female Breast.
The Queen of Love herself my Bosom fires,
Assists my Numbers, and my Thoughts inspires.
Me she instructed in each secret Art,
How to enslave, and keep the vanquish'd Heart;
When the stol'n Sigh to heave, or drop the Tear,
The melting Languish, the obliging Fear;
Half-stifled Wishes, broken, kind Replies,
And all the various Motions of the Eyes.
To teach the Fair by different Ways to move
The soften'd Soul, and bend the Heart to Love.
Proud of her Charms, and conscious of her Face,
The haughty Beauty calls forth every Grace;
With fierce Defiance throws the killing Dart,
By Force she wins, by Force she keeps the Heart.
The witty Fair on nobler Game pursues,
Aims at the Head, but the rapt Soul subdues.
The languid Nymph enslaves with softer Art,
With sweet Neglect she steals into the Heart;
Slowly she moves her swimming Eyes around,
Conceals her Shaft, but meditates the Wound:
Her gentle Languishments the Gazers move,
Her Voice is Musick, and her Looks are Love.
Tho' not to all Heaven does these Gifts impart,
What's theirs by Nature may be yours by Art.
But let your Airs be suited to your Face,
Nor to a Languish tack a sprightly Grace.
The short round Face, brisk Eyes, and auburn Hair,
Must smiling Joy in every Motion wear;
Her quick unsettled Glances deal around,
Hide her Design, and seem by Chance to wound.
Dark rolling Eyes a Languish may assume,
And tender Looks and melting Airs become:
The pensive Head upon the Hand reclin'd,
As if some sweet Disorder fill'd the Mind.
Let the heav'd Breast a struggling Sigh restrain,
And seem to stop the falling Tear with Pain.
The Youth, who all the soft Distress believes,
Soon wants the kind Compassion which he gives.
But Beauty, Wit, and Youth may sometimes fail,
Nor always o'er the stubborn Soul prevail.
Then let the fair One have recourse to Art,
And, if not vanquish, undermine the Heart.
First from your artful Looks with studious Care,
From mild to grave, from tender to severe.
Oft on the careless Youth your Glances dart,
A tender Meaning let each Look impart.
Whene'er he meets your Looks with modest Pride,
And soft Confusion turn your Eyes aside,
Let a soft Sigh steal out, as if by Chance,
Then cautious turn, and steal another Glance.
Caught by these Arts, with Pride and Hope elate,
The destin'd Victim rushes on his Fate:
Pleas'd, his imagin'd Victory pursues,
And the kind Maid with soften'd Glances views;
Contemplates now her Shape, her Air, her Face,
And thinks each Feature wears an added Grace;
'Till Gratitude, which first his Bosom proves,
By slow Degrees is ripen'd into Love.
'Tis harder still to fix than gain a Heart;
What's won by Beauty, must be kept by Art.
Too kind a Treatment the blest Lover cloys,
And oft Despair the growing Flame destroys:
Sometimes with Smiles receive him, sometimes Tears,
And wisely balance both his Hopes and Fears.
Perhaps he mourns his ill-requited Pains,
Condemns your Sway, and strives to break his Chains;
Behaves as if he now your Scorn defy'd,
And thinks at least he shall alarm your Pride:
But with Indifference view the seeming Change,
And let your Eyes after new Conquests range;
While his torn Breast with jealous Fury burns,
He hopes, despairs, hates, and adores by Turns;
With Anguish now repents the weak Deceit,
And powerful Passion bears him to your Feet.
Strive not the jealous Lover to perplex,
Ill suits Suspension with that haughty Sex;
Rashly they judge, and always think the worst,
And Love is often banish'd by Distrust.
To these an open free Behaviour wear,
Avoid Disguise, and seem at least sincere.
Whene'er you meet affect a glad Surprize,
And give unmelting Softness to your Eyes:
By some unguarded Word your Love reveal,
And anxiously the rising Blush conceal.
By Arts like these the Jealous you deceive,
Then most deluded when they most believe.
But while in all you seek to raise Desire,
Beware the fatal Passion you inspire:
Each soft intruding Wish in Time reprove,
And guard against the sweet Envader Love.
Not for the tender were these Rules design'd,
Who in their Faces show their yielding Mind:
Eyes that a native Languishment can wear,
Whose Smiles are artless, and whose Blush sincere;
But the gay Nymph who Liberty can prize.
And vindicate the Triumph of her Eyes:
Who o'er Mankind a haughty Rule maintains,
Whose Wit can manage what her Beauty gains:
Such by these Arts their Empire may improve,
And what they lost by Nature gain by Love.
To
MIRA.
Inviting her to a RETREAT in the COUNTRY.
NOW Spring returning decks the Year
With all that's lovely, all that's fair;
The Fields in lively Green array'd,
With deeper Glooms the silent Shade;
Soft descends the gentle show'rs,
And wakes to Life the springing Flow'rs;
Hence ambrosial Sweets exhale,
And various Colours paint the Vale;
Refreshing Airs the Zephyrs blow,
The Streams with pleasing Murmurs flow;
While nightly 'midst the silent Plain
Thy fav'rite Bird renews her Strain,
Come then, my
Mira,
come and share
My Joys, and breath a purer Air.
Together let us range the Plains,
Amongst the rustick Nmyphs and Swains;
In rural Dress, devoid of Cure,
Give to the Winds our flowing Hair,
And round the Meadows gayly roam,
For Youth does sober Mirth become.
Now straining up you airy Height,
We'll entertain the wand'ring Sight,
With flow'ry Fields, and waving Woods,
Hills and Dales, and falling Floods:
Or to relieve the searching Eyes,
See distant Spires and Temples rise.
Come now, my
Mira,
let us rove
Together thro' the mazy Grove;
Here, while with gentle Pace we walk,
Beguile the Time with pleasing Talk:
Here show thy melting Eloquence,
Thy sprightly Wit, thy manly Sense;
Thy virtuous Notions void of Art,
And while you charm, correct the Heart.
Or now together careless laid,
Beneath a Cypress spreading Shade,
Our Thoughts to heavenly Numbers raise,
Repeating
Pope
's harmonious Lays,
Now
Homer
's awful Leaves turn o'er,
Or graver History explore;
Or study
Plato
's sacred Page,
Uncommon to our Sex and Age.
Now wand'ring by the Moon's pale Light,
Amidst the silent Shades of Night,
Where on the late deserted Plains
A pleasing Melancholy reigns;
Softly thro' the rustling Trees
Sobs the sweetly dying Breeze;
The Echo's catch the plaintive Sound,
And gentle Murmurs breathe around.
Now sing, my Friend, and let thy Strain
Recount the Arts of faithless Man:
Thy Notes, sweet
Philomel,
shall join,
And mix her soft Complaints with thine.
But raise, my
Mira,
raise thy Song,
To Friendship nobler Strains belong.
Oh sing its tender chaste Desires,
Its equal, pure, and lasting Fires!
Such as in thy Bosom burns,
Such as my fond Soul returns.
Friendship is but Love refin'd,
Not weakens, but exalts the Mind;
And when its sacred Power we prove,
We guess how heavenly Spirits love.
Verses wrote extempore on a Gentleman's playing on the Flute.
I.
OH! cease thy too harmonious Strain,
Nor thus my ravish'd Soul surprize:
What new Ideas, pleasing Pains,
Does by the sweet Inchantment rise?
II.
Lull'd by the dear bewitching Sound,
Each jarring Passion's charm'd to rest;
Yet my Soul feels a pleasing Wound,
And sweet Disorders fill my Breast.
III.
Forbear to show thy heavenly Art,
Nor aim a Conquest o'er my Mind;
By Musick soften'd to the Dart,
Love may an easy Entrance find.
An EPISTLE TO
MONESES,
IN IMITATION of OVID.
WHEN urg'd by Honour, from thy Sight I flew,
And scarce would breath one tender soft adieu,
From thy dear Face I turn'd my gazing Eyes,
Supprest the Tears, and check'd the rising Sighs.
Self-banish'd all Despairs worst Pangs I prove,
I fled from you, but could not fly from Love.
Oh do not then, my lovely Swain, accuse
My Want of Truth, nor charge on me thy Woes:
For every Pain which racks thy faithful Breast,
A thousand more my anxious Soul opprest;
Sorrows for which Description's all too faint,
And equal Misery alone can paint.
Dearer than Light to these fond Eyes you are,
My first, my last, and still my only Care.
My hapless Flame nor Time nor Absence cures,
Still constant to the Vows which made me yours.
Ah! why then in that sadly-pleasing Strain?
Why does
Moneses
of his Wrongs complain?
Forbear to send me what thy Muse inspir'd,
By ill-requited Love, and Absence fir'd:
Deep in my Soul thy soft Reproaches steal,
And all thy Griefs redoubled there I feel;
Still round my Heart plays the same lambient Flame,
Each Wish, and every fond Desire the same.
Nor can thy Pen one piercing Woe reveal,
Which thy
Ardelia
does not equal feel.
Ah, dear Idea of my lovely Swain!
Ah, soft Remembrance of my former Pain!
Why to my anxious Breast do you return?
Why wake a Flame which must for ever burn?
Still shall that lovely Image charm my View,
And those dear Accents all my Grief renew:
Still must I love, tho' Honour Love deny,
And bids me from the dangerous Charmer fly.
Ah then how vain, how fruitless all my Care?
This welcome Absence, this confirm'd Despair?
This cruel Contest between Love and Fame?
These endless Pangs for which I want a Name?
Why does
Moneses
still love on? Why share
In all those Sorrows I alone should bear?
All tender as thou wert, all soft and kind,
I flew, and with thee left my Soul behind;
I left thee, fancied Honour to pursue,
Just to myself, but more unjust to you.
Why then my Image dost thou still retain?
Why for a Wretch unworthy thee complain?
O rather hate me, drive me from your Breast,
By Scorn and Hate be all thy Soul possest:
Let thy fond Heart thy once-lov'd Chains resign,
Compleat thy Cure, and O assist in mine.
Why did I love? Why did my easy Heart
Admit the dear, but ah too dangerous Dart?
Why did I not the pleasing Torment shun?
Why fondly listen to the pleasing Tongue?
Quick to my Heart the subtle Poison stole,
Charm'd all my Senses, and enslav'd my Soul;
And less the Beauty of thy matchless Form,
Then thy prevailing Eloquence could charm.
Oh come once more,
Moneses,
and renew
Those tender Vows, and I'll believe them true:
Let me once more behold those melting Eyes,
Where Love a thousand nameless Charms supplies:
The soft Enchantment shall my Fears controul,
And Love claim all his Empire in my Soul.
Ah! whether would my boundless Wishes rove?
Still, still am I enslav'd by guilty Love!
Still shall its lawless Fires my Soul profane,
And is my boasted Virtue but a Name?
No; I'll forget thee, drive thee from my Breast,
Thou dear Undoer of my Peace and Rest.
Yet how forget, when every Thought is thine?
Even Life itself were easier to resign.
To lonely Shades in vain I fly for Ease,
There secret sigh, and feed the sweet Disease.
On thy dear Name I call, and all around
The whisp'ring Winds repeat the charming Sound.
'Tis thus I wear the anxious Hours away,
'Till Night restores the Sorrows of the Day.
Then does thy Image to my Eyes appear;
But ah! with Looks averse, and Frowns severe;
Still as you seem to chide me with your Eyes,
My own in streaming Tears to yours replies,
Oh stay, I cry, thou charming Phantom stay,
Or with thee take my fleeting Soul away!
In vain I call, my clasping Arms you shun,
And waking find the dear Delusion gone.
Thus, does
Ardelia
hunt thy boding Dream;
Does she like thee all cold and cruel seem?
Or does the pensive Shade soft Sorrows wear,
Heave the faint Sigh, and shed the mimick Tear?
On thy lov'd Breast her painful Head recline,
And tell thee that her Torments equal thine.
Why can I not this fatal Flame remove?
Or why, O why is it a Crime to love?
By Turns my Reason and my Passion sway,
As Honour triumphs, and as Love betray;
My tortur'd Breast conflicting Passions tear,
And Love and Virtue wage unequal War:
Now all its sacred Precepts I pursue,
Lost for a while is every Thought of you.
But oh! again the guilty Lover burns,
And all the Woman in my Soul returns;
Again my Bosom glows with soft Desire,
And hope returning fans the fatal Fire.
Seas rolls between us, but the active Mind
Still springs to thee, and leaves its load behind.
Oh should some happy Chance to us unknown,
Without a Crime confirm me all thy own.
Blest be these tender Griefs, these anxious Fears,
These never-ceasing Sighs and flowing Tears!
Oh! let my Soul the pleasing Hope retain,
One Hour of Joy repays whole Years of Pain!
To suff'ring Martyrs thus such Hopes are given;
Such Views of promis'd Joys and future Heaven.
For this resign'd they calmly meet their Fate,
Conscious of Blessings in a happier State.
An ODE.
I.
AH cease to grieve, fond fluttering Heart,
Thy charming Conqueror returns;
Hence every Doubt each Fear depart,
The Youth with equal Passion burns.
II.
Haste, gentle Winds, and waft him here,
Nor long my lov'd
Philander
keep;
Grant, Queen of Love, a Lover's Prayer,
Sooth into Smiles thy native Deep.
III.
While I thy gentle Power address,
View the dear Object of my Care;
View him, bright Goddess, and confess
A lovelier
Adonis
there.
IV.
Then can my Vows be fruitless paid,
When in that love-inspiring Form;
Those melting Graces are display'd,
Which your celestial Breast cou'd warm.
V.
Come then, my Soul's Enslaver, come,
To these fond Eyes their Bliss restore;
Be these encircling Arms thy Home,
And fate shall never part us more.
SONG.
IN Vain I strive to fly
This Soul consuming Care,
My Sorrows always nigh,
And present every where.
In vain I trace the Grove,
There no Repose I find;
What Place can banish Love
From the subjected Mind.
That pensive-falling Stream,
Those Gales that whisper round,
Increase the fatal Flame,
And deeper fix the Wound.
The silent Shades of night,
Adds Horror to my Grief;
The gay Return of Light
To me brings no Relief.
In Answer to Consolatory Verses wrote by a Friend.
WITH Ease Advice to virtuous Woe we give,
But ah! how few by
Stoick
Rules can live?
Virtue distrest in melting Verse appears;
Beauteous in Misery, and adorn'd in Tears.
But in the World 'tis view'd with other Eyes;
Virtue in Rags is Beauty in Disguise;
And can no more Contempt and Scorn disarm,
Then a fair Face behind a Masque can charm.
Whatever Gifts we may to Nature owe,
Success is all our Merit here below.
By Fortune favour'd Fools may rise to Fame;
Without it Virtue is an empty Name.
SHALLUM
to
HILPAH,
An EPISTLE. From the
SPECTATOR.
WHAT Thought can figure all my vast Distress?
What Words the Anguish of my Soul express,
When to my Rival you resign'd your Charms,
And fill'd his richer, but less faithful Arms?
Loathing the Sun's bright Rays to Shades I fly,
And your dear Name to whisp'ring Zephyrs sigh,
The whisp'ring Zephyrs your dear Name reply;
These threescore Years and ten thy Loss I've mourn'd,
While
Tirzah
's Hills my loud Complaint return'd.
Dark gloomy Groves to raise have been my Care,
Fit Scenes of hopeless Love, and black Despair.
But now, oh—
Hilpah
Paradise appears,
And a new
Eden
rises 'midst my Tears.
Here opening Flowers the ravish'd Sense invade,
There spreading Cedars form a grateful Shade.
Soft gliding Streams, which murmur as they flow,
And Gales that all
Arabia
's Odours blow.
Come up then, my Belov'd! Oh come and grace
This Spot of Earth, with a young lovely Race.
Let a fair num'rous Offspring fill each Shade,
And a-new-peopled World by thee be made.
Remember, fair One, that the Age of Man
Is but a thousand Years, and quickly gone:
Beauty, tho' much admir'd, yet soon is past,
Its transient Glories but some Centuries last:
Like a tall Oak, which long on
Tirzah
's Height
Display'd its growing Branches to the Sight;
Now worn with Age it falls, nor thought of more,
Unless some Root its Memory restore:
Which with increasing Verdure still may rise,
And like its Parent-Tree invade the Skies,
Think well on this, then haste to make me blest;
Be happy now, and leave to Fate the rest.
FINIS.