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Fair beauty's bud! when Time shall stretch thy |
Confirm thy charms, and ripen thee to man, [span,
What plenteous fruits thy blossoms shall produce,
And yield not barren ornament, but use
Ev'n now thy spring a rich increase prepares
To crown thy riper growth, and manly years.
Thus in the kernel's intricate disguise,
In miniature a little orchard lies;
The fibrous labyrinths by just degrees
Stretch their swoln cells, replete with future trees;
By Time evolv'd, the spreading branches rise,
Yield their rich fruits, and shoot into the skies.

O lovely babe, what lustre shall adorn
Thy noon of beauty, when so bright thy morn!
Shine forth advancing with a brighter ray,
And may no vice o'ercloud thy future day!
With nobler aim instruct thy soul to glow,
Than those gay trifles, titles, wealth, and show:
May valour, wisdom, learning, crown thy days!
Those fools admire these Heaven and Angels
praise!"

With riches blest, to Heaven those riches lend,
The poor man's guardian, and the good man's friend:
Bid virtuous Sorrow smile, scorn'd Merit cheer,
And o'er Affliction pour the generous tear.
Some, wildly liberal, squander, not bestow,
And give unprais'd, because they give for show:
To sanctify thy wealth, on worth employ
Thy gold, and to a blessing turn the toy:
Thus offerings from th' unjust pollute the skies,
The good, turn smoke into a sacrifice.

As when an artist plans a favourite draught,
The structures rise responsive to the thought;
A palace grows beneath his forming hands,
Or worthy of a god a temple stands :
Such is thy rising frame! by Heaven design'd
A temple, worthy of a godlike mind;

VARIATIONS.

So glorious is thy morn of life begun,
That all to thee with admiration run,
Turn Persians, and adore the rising Sun.
So fair thou art, that if great Cupid be
A child, as poets say; sure thou art he.
Fair Venus would mistake thee for her own,
Did not thy eyes proclaim thee not her son.
There all the lightnings of thy mother's shine,
Their radiant glory and their sweetness join,
To show their fatal power, and all their charms, in
If fond Narcissus in the crystal stood, [thine,
A form like thine, O lovely infant, view'd,
Well might the flame the pining youth destroy;
Excess of beauty justified the boy.

ADDITION.

? To brace the mind to dignity of thought,
To emulate what godlike Tully wrote,
Be this thy early wish! The garden breeds,
If unimprov'd, at least but gaudy weeds:
And stubborn youth, by culture unsubdu'd,
Lies wildly barren, or but gayly rude.
Yet, as some Phidias gives the marble life,
While Art with Nature holds a dubious strife,
Adorns a rock with graces not its own,
And calls a Venus from the rugged stone;
So culture aids the human soul to rise,
To scorn the sordid Earth, and mount the skies,
Till by degrees the noble guest refines,
Claims her high birthright, and divinely shines.

Nobly adorn'd, and finish'd to display
A fuller beam of Heaven's ethereal ray.

May all thy charms increase, O lovely boy!
Spare them, ye pains, and age alone destroy!
So fair thou art, that if great Cupid be
A child, the god might boast to look like thee!
When young Iülus' form he deign'd to wear,
Such were his smiles, and such his winning air:
Ev'n Venus might mistake thee for her own,
Thence all the lightning of thy mother's flies,
Did not thy eyes proclaim thee not her son;
A Cupid grac'd with Cytherea's eyes!

Yet ah! how short a date the Powers decree
To that bright frame of beauties, and to thee!
Pass a few days, and all those beauties fly!
Pass a few years, and thou, alas! shalt die!
Then all thy kindred, all thy friends shall see
With tears, what now thou art, and they must be;
A pale, cold, lifeless lump of earth deplore!
Such shalt thou be, and kings shall be no more!

But oh! when, ripe for death, Fate calls thee hence,
Sure lot of every mortal excellence!
When, pregnant as the womb, the teeming Fart
Resigns thee quicken'd to thy second birth,
Rise, cloth'd with beauties that shall never die!
A saint on Earth! an angel in the sky!

TO A GENTLEMAN OF SEVENTY,
WHO MARRIED A LADY OF SIXTEEN.

WHAT WOes must such unequal union bring,
When hoary Winter weds the youthful Spring!
You, like Mezentius,' in the nuptial bed,
Once more unite the living to the dead.

THE

XLIII CHAPTER OF ECCLESIASTICUS.
A PARAPHRASE.

THE Sun, that rolls his beamy orb on high,
Pride of the world, and glory of the sky,
Illustrious in his course, in bright array
Marches along the Heavens, and scatters day
O'er Earth, and o'er the main, and through th' ethe-
He in the morn renews his radiant round, [real way.
And warms the fragrant bosom of the ground;
But ere the noon of day, in fiery gleams
He darts the glory of his blazing beams;
Beneath the burnings of his sultry ray,
Earth, to her centre, pierc'd admits the day;
Huge vales expand, where rivers roll'd before.
And lessen'd seas contract within their shore.

O! Power supreme! O! high above all height!
Thou gav'st the Sun to shine, and thou art Light =
Whether he falls or rises in the skies,

He by thy voice is taught to fall or rise;
Swiftly he moves, refulgent in his sphere,
And measures out the day, the month, and year;
He drives the hours along with slower pace,
The minutes rush away impetuous in their race z
He wakes the flowers that sleep within the earth,
And calls the fragrant infants out to birth;

1 The living and the dead, at his command,
Were coupled face to face, and hand to hand.
Dryden's Virgil, Æa võii.

The fragrant infants paint th' enamel'd vales,
And native incense loads the balmy gales;
The balmy gales the fragrancy convey
To Heaven, and to their God, an offering pay.

By thy command the Moon, as day-light fades,
Lifts her broad circle in the deepening shades;
Array'd in glory, and enthron'd in light,
She breaks the solemn terrours of the night;
Sweetly inconstant in her varying flame,
She changes still, another, yet the same!
Now in decrease, by slow degrees she shrouds
Her fading lustre in a veil of clouds;
Now at increase, her gathering beams display
A blaze of light, and give a paler day;
Ten thousand stars adorn her glittering train,
Fall when she falls, and rise with her again;
And o'er the deserts of the sky unfold
Their burning spangles of sidereal gold: [bright,
Through the wide Heavens she moves serenely
Queen of the gay attendants of the night;
Orb above orb in sweet confusion lies,
And with a bright disorder paints the skies.
The Lord of Nature fram'd the showery bow,
Turn'd its gay arch, and bade its colours glow:
Its radiant circle compasses the skies,
And sweetly the rich tinctures faint, and rise;
It bids the horrours of the storm to cease,
Adorns the clouds, and makes the tempest please.
He, when deep-rolling clouds blot out the day,
And thunderous storms a solemn gloom display,
Pours down a watery deluge from on high,
And opens all the sluices of the sky:
High o'er the shores the rushing surge prevails,
Bursts o'er the plain, and roars along the vales;
Dashing abruptly, dreadful down it comes,
Tumbling through rocks, and tosses, whirls, and
Mean time, from every region of the sky, [foams:
Red burning bolts in forky vengeance fly;
Dreadfully bright o'er seas and earth they glare,
And bursts of thunder rend th' encumber'd air;
At once the thunders of th' Almighty sound,
Heaven lours, descend the floods, and rocks the
ground.

He gives the furious whirlwind wings to fly,
To rend the Earth, and wheel along the sky;
In circling eddies whirl'd, it roars aloud,
Drives wave on wave, and dashes cloud on cloud;
Where'er it moves, it lays whole forests low;
And at the blast, eternal mountains bow;
While, tearing up the sands, in drifts they rise,
And half the deserts mount the burthen'd skies.
He from aërial treasures downward pours
Sheets of unsully'd snow in lucid showers;
Flake after flake, through air thick-wavering flies,
Till one vast shining waste all nature lies;
Then the proud hills a virgin whiteness shed,
A dazzling brightness glitters from the mead;
The hoary trees reflect a silver show,
And groves beneath the lovely burthen bow.

He from loose vapours with an icy chain
Binds the round hail, and moulds the harden'd rain:
The stony tempest, with a rushing sound,
Beats the firm glebe, resulting from the ground;
Swiftly it falls, and as it falls invades

The rising herb, or breaks the spreading blades:
While infant flowers that rais'd their bloomy heads,
Crush'd by its fury, sink into their beds.

When stormy Winter from the frozen north
Borne on his icy chariot issues forth,
The blasted groves their verdant pride resign,
And billows harden'd into crystal shine:
Sharp blows the rigour of the piercing winds,
And the proud floods as with a breast-plate binds &
Ev'n the proud seas forget in tides to roll
Beneath the freezings of the northern pole;
There waves on waves in solid mountains rise,
And Alps of ice invade the wondering skies;
While gulphs below, and slippery vallies lie,
And with a dreadful brightness pain the eye:
But if warm winds a warmer air restore,
And softer breezes bring a genial shower,
The genial shower revives the cheerful plain,
And the huge hills flow down into the main.

When the seas rage, and loud the ocean roars,
When foaming billows lash the sounding shores;
If he in thunder bid the waves subside,
The waves obedient sink upon the tide,
A sudden peace controls the limpid deep,
And the still waters in soft silence sleep.
Then Heaven lets down a golden-streaming ray,
And all the broad expansion flames with day:
In the clear glass the mariners descry
A sun inverted, and a downward sky.

They who adventurous plough the watery way, The dreadful wonders of the deep survey; Familiar with the storms, their sails unbind, Tempt the rough blast, and bound before the wind: Now high they mount, now shoot into a vale, Now smooth their course, and scud before the gale; There rolling monsters, arm'd in scaly pride, Flounce in the billows, and dash round the tide There huge Leviathan unwieldy moves, And through the waves, a living island, roves; In dreadful pastime terribly he sports And the vast ocean scarce his weight supports; Where'er he turns, the hoary deeps divide; He breathes a tempest, and he spouts a tide.

Thus, Lord, the wonders of earth, sea, and air, Thy boundless wisdom and thy power declare; Thou high in glory, and in might serene, See'st and mov'st all, thyself unmov'd, unseen? Should men and angels join in songs to raise A grateful tribute equal to thy praise, Though men and angels in the song should join; Yet far thy glory would their praise outshine, For though this Earth with skill divine is wrought, Above the guess of man, or angel's thought, Yet in the spacious regions of the skies New scenes unfold, and worlds on worlds arise; There other orbs, round other suns advance, Float on the air, and run their mystic dance; And yet the power of thy Almighty hand Can build another world from every sand: And though vain man arraign thy high decree, Still this is just! what is, that ought to be.

THE

CONCLUSION OF AN EPILOGUE

TO ME. SOUTHERN'S LAST PLAY, CALLED MONEY THE MISTRESS.

THERE was a time, when in his younger years, Our author's scenes commanded smiles or tears;

And though beneath the weight of days he bends,
Yet, like the Sun, he shines as he descends:
Then with applause, in honour to his age,
Dismiss your veteran soldier off the stage;
Crown his last exit with distinguish'd praise,
And kindly hide his baldness' with the bays.

THE PARTING,

A SONG,

SET BY DR. TUDWAY, PROFESSOR OF MUSIC IN

WH

CAMBRIDGE.

HEN from the plains Beliuda fled,

The sad Amintor sigh'd;

And thus, while streams of tears he shed,
The mournful shepherd cry'd:

"Move slow, ye Hours! thou, Time, delay!
Prolong the bright Belinda's stay:
But you, like her, my prayer deny,
And cruelly away ye fly.

"Yet though she flies, she leaves behind
Her lovely image in my mind.
O! fair Belinda, with me stay,
Or take thy image too away!
"See! how the fields are gay around,
How painted flowers adorn the ground!
As if the fields, as well as I,

Were proud to please my fair-one's eye.
"But now, ye fields, no more be gay;
No more, ye flowers, your charms display!
"Tis desert all, now you are fled,
And paradise is where you tread."
Unmov'd the virgin flies his cares,
To shine at court and play:
To lonely shades the youth repairs,
To weep his life away:

Such are thy charms!-yet Zephyrs bring
The flower to bloom again in Spring:
But beauty, when it once derlines,
No more to warm the lover shines:
Alas! incessant speeds the day,
When thou shalt be but common clay!
When I, who now adore, may see,
And ev'n with horrour start from thee!

But ere, sweet gift, thy grace consumes,
Show thou my fair-one how she blooms!
Put forth thy charms :-and then declare
Thyself less sweet, thyself less fair!
Then sudden, by a swift decay,
Let all thy beauties fade away;
And let her in thy glass descry,
How youth, and how frail beauty die.

Ah! turn, my charmer, turn thy eyes!
See! how at once it fades, it dies!
While thine-it gaily pleas'd the view,
Unfaded, as before it grew!

Now, from thy bosom doom'd to stray,
'Tis only beauteous in decay:

So the sweet smelling Indian flowers,
Griev'd when they leave those happier shores,
Sicken, and die away in ours.

So flowers, in Eden fond to blow,
In Paradise would only grow.

Nor wonder, fairest, to survey
The flower so suddenly decay!
Too cold thy breast! nor can it grow
Between such little hills of snow.

I now, vain infidel, no more
Deride th' Ægyptians, who adore
The rising herb, and blooming flower;
Now, now their convert I will be,
O lovely Flower! to worship thee.

But if thou 'rt one of their sad train
Who dy'd for love, and cold disdain,
Who, chang'd by some kind pitying power,
A lover once, art now a flower;

O pity me, O weep my care,

A thousand, thousand pains I bear,

I love, I die through deep despair!

ON A FLOWER

WHICH BELINDA GAVE ME FROM HER BOSOM.

O! LOVELY offspring of the May,
Whence flow thy balmy odours, say!
Such odours-not the orient boasts!
Though Paradise adorn'd the coasts!

O! sweeter than each flower that blooms,
This fragrance from thy bosom comes!
Thence, thence such sweets are spread abroad,
As might be incense for a god!

When Venus stood conceal'd from view,
Her son, the latent goddess knew,

Such sweets breath'd round! and thus we know Our other Venus here below.

But see! my fairest, see this flower, This short-liv'd beauty of an hour!-

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THE STORY OF TALUS.

FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. v. 1629.

*Ημος δ' ήέλιος μὲνίου, ἀνὰ δ ̓ ἤλυθεν ἀστὴρ
Αύλιος, &c.

THE evening-star now lifts, as day-light fades,
His golden circlet in the deepening shades;
Stretch'd at his ease, the weary labourer shares
A sweet forgetfulness of human cares;
At once in silence sink the sleeping gales;
The mast they drop, and furl the flagging sails;
All night, all day, they ply the bending oars
Tow'rd Carpathus, and reach the rocky shores:

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Virg.

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Thence Crete they view, emerging from the main,
The queen of isles; but Crete they view in vain;
There Talus, whirling with resistless sway
Rocks sheer uprent, repels them from the bay:
A giant, sprung from giant-race, who took
Their births from entrails of the stubborn oak;
Fierce guard of Crete! by Jove assistant given
To legislators, styl'd the sons of Heaven:
To Mercy deaf, he thrice each year explores
The trembling isle, and strides from shores to
A form of living brass! one part beneath [shores:
Alone he bears, a path to let in Death,
Where o'er the ankle swells the turgid vein,
Soft to the stroke, and sensible of pain.

And now her magic spells Medea9 tries,
Bids the red fiends, the dogs of Orcus rise,
That, starting dreadful from th' infernal shade,
Ride Heaven in storms, and all that breathes, in-
vade;

Thrice she applies the power of magic prayer,
Thrice, hellward bending, mutters charms in air;
Then, turning tow'rd the foe, bids Mischief fly,
And looks Destruction as she points her eye:
Then spectres, rising from Tartarean bowers,
Howl round in air, or grin along the shores;
While, tearing up whole hills', the giant throws,
Outrageous, rocks on rocks, to crush the fees:
But, frantic as he strides, a sudden wound
Bursts the life-vein, and blood o'erspreads the
As from the furnace, in a burning flood, [ground:
Pours molten lead, so pours in streams his blood;
And now he staggers, as the spirit flies,

He faints, he sinks, he tumbles, and he dies.
As some huge cedar on a mountain's brow,
Pierc'd by the steel, expects the final blow,
A while it totters with alternate sway,
Till freshening breezes through the branches play;
Then, tumbling downward with a thundering sound,
Falls headlong, and o'erspreads a breadth of ground:
So, as the giant falls, the ocean roars;
Out-stretch'd he lies, and covers half the shores.

FROM THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF
THE ILIADS OF HOMER.
IN THE STYLE OF MILTON.

Now gay Aurora from Tithonus' bed

Rose in the orient, to proclaim the day
To gods and men: down to the Grecian tents
Saturnian Jove sends Discord, red with blood;
War in her hand she grasps, ensigns of war;
On brave Ulysses' ship she took her stand,
The centre of the host, that all might hear
Her dreadful voice: her dreadful voice she rais'd;
Jarring along the rattling shores it ran

To the fleet's wide extremes. Achilles heard,
And Ajax heard the sound: with martial fires
Now every bosom burns; arms, glorious arms,
Fierce they demand; the noble Orthean song
Swells every heart; no coward thoughts of flight
Rise in their souls, but blood they breathe and war.
Now by the trench 2 profound, the charioteers
Range their proud steeds; now car by car displays

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A direful front; now o'er the trembling field
Rushes th' embattled foot; noise rends the skies,
Noise unextinguished: ere the beamy day
Flam'd in th' aerial vault, stretch'd in the van
Stood the bold infantry: the rushing cars
Form'd the deep rear in battailous array.
Now from his Heavens Jove hurls his burning bolts;
Hoarse muttering thunders grumble in the sky;
While from the clouds, instead of morning-dews,
Huge drops of blood distain the crimson ground;
Fatal presage! that in that dreadful day
The great should bleed, imperial heads lie low!
Mean time the bands of Troy in proud array
Stand to their arms, and from a rising ground
Breathe furious war: here gathering hosts attend
The towering Hector: there refulgent bands
Surround Polydamas, Æneas there
Marshals his dauntless files; nor unemploy'd
Stand Polybus, Agenor great in arms,
And Acamas, whose frame the gods endow'd
With more than mortal charms: fierce in the van
Stern Hector shines, and shakes his blazing shield.
As the fierce dog-star with malignant fires
Flames in the front of Heaven, then, lost in clouds,
Veils his pernicious beams; from rank to rank
So Hector strode; now dreadful in the van
Advanc'd his sun-broad shield, now to the rear
Swift rushing disappear'd: His radiant arms
Blaz'd on his limbs, and bright as Jove's dire bolts
Flash'd o'er the field, and lighten'd to the skies.
Rang'd in two bands, move adverse, rank on rank,
As toiling reapers in some spacious field,

Where o'er the tilth the grain in ears of gold
Waves nodding to the breeze; at once they bend,
At once the copious harvest swells the ground:
So rush to battle o'er the dreadful field

Host against host; they meet, they close, and ranks
Tumble on ranks; no thoughts appear of flight,
None of dismay: dubious in even scales
The battle hangs; not fiercer, ravenous wolves
Dispute the prey; the deathful scene with joy
Discord, dire parent of tremendous woes,
Surveys exultant: of th' immortal train
Discord alone descends, assists alone
The horrours of the field; in peace the gods,
High in Olympian bowers, on radiant thrones,
Lament the works of man; but loud complaints
From every god arose; Jove favour'd Troy,
At partial Jove they murmur'd: he, unmov'd,
All Heaven in murmurs heard: Apart he sate
Enthron'd in glory: down to Farth he turn'd
His stedfast eye, and from his throne survey'd
The rising towers of Troy, the tented shores,
The blaze of arms, the slayer, and the slain.

While, with his morning wheels, the god of day
In murderous storms the shafts from host to host
Climb'd up the steep of Heaven, with equal rage
Flew adverse, and in equal numbers fell
Promiscuous Greek and Trojan, till the hour,
When the tir'd woodman, in the shady vale,
Spreads his penurious meal, when high the Sun
Flames in the zenith, and his sinewy arms
Admonishes, and Nature, spent with toil,
Scarce wield the ponderous axe, while hunger keen
With horrid inroad goar'd: fierce from the van
Craves due repast-Then Greece the ranks of Troy
Sprung the stern king of men, and, breathing death,
Where, in firm battle, Trojans band by band

• Agamemnon, v. 148,

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Embody'd stood, pursued his dreadful way:
His host his step attends: now glows the war;
Horse treads on horse; and man, encountering man,
Swells the dire field with death: the plunging steeds
Beat the firm glebes; thick dust in rising clouds
Darkens the sky. Indignant o'er the plain
Atrides stalks; Death every step attends.
As when, in some huge forest, sudden flames
Rage dreadful, when rough winds assist the blaze,
From tree to tree the fiery torrent rolls,
And the vast forest sinks with all its groves
Beneath the burning deluge; so whole hosts
Yield to Atrides' arm: car against car [ranks
Rush'd rattling o'er the field, and through the
Unguided broke; while breathless on the ground
Lay the pale charioteers, in death deform'd;
To their chaste brides sad spectacles of woe,
Now only grateful to the fowls of air.

Mcan time, the care of Jove, great Hector stood
Secure in scenes of death, in storms of darts,
In slaughter and alarms, in dust and blood.

Still Agamemnon, rushing o'er the field, Leads his bold bands: whole hosts before him fly; Now Ilus' tomb they pass, now urge their way Close by the fig-tree shade: with shouts the king Pursues the foe incessant: dust and blood, Blood mix'd with dust, distains his murderous hands. As when a lion, in the gloom of night, Invades an herd of beeves, o'er all the plains Trembling they scatter; furious on the prey The generous savage flies, and with fierce joy Seizes the last; his hungry foaming jaws Churn the black blood, and rend the panting prey: Thus fled the foe; Atrides thus pursued, And still the hindmost slew: they from their cars Fell headlong; for his javelin, wild for blood, Rag'd terribly: and now proud Troy had fall'n, But the dread sire of men and gods descends Terrific from his Heavens, his vengeful hand Ten thousand thunders grasps: on Ida's heights He takes his stand: it shakes with all its groves Beneath the god; the god suspends the war.

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O! WONDROUS art, that grace to shadows gives!
By whose command the lovely phantom lives!
Smiles with her smiles! the mimic eye instills
A real flame! the fancy'd lightning kills!
Thus mirrors catch the love-inspiring face,
And the new charmer grace returns for grace.
Hence shall thy beauties, when no more appears
Their fair possessor, shine a thousand years;
By age uninjur'd, future times adorn,

And warm the hearts of millions yet unborn,
Who, gazing on the portrait with a sigh,
Shall grieve such perfect charms could ever die :
How would they grieve, if to such beauties join'd
The paint could show the wonders of thy mind!

O virgin! born th' admiring world to grace!
Transmit thy excellence to latest days;
Yield to thy lover's vows! and then shall rise
A race of beauties conquering with thine eyes;
Who, reigning in thy charms, from Death shall save
That lovely form, and triumph o'er the Grave.

Thus, when thro' age the Rose-tree's charms deWhen all her fading beauties die away; [cay, A blooming offspring fills the parent's place With equal fragrance, and with equal grace But ah! how short a date on Earth is given To the most lovely workmanship of Heaven! Too soon that cheek must every charm resign, And those love-darting eyes forget to shine! While thousands weeping round, with sighs survey What once was younow only beauteous clay! Ev'n from the canvass shall thy image fade, And thou re-perish in thy perish'd shade: Then may this verse to future ages show One perfect beauty—such as thou art now! May it the graces of thy soul display, Till this world sinks, and suns themselves decay; When with immortal beauty thou shalt rise, To shine the loveliest angel in the skies.

PROLOGUE

TO MR. FENTON'S EXCELLENT TRAGEDY, MARIAMNE.

WHEN breathing Statues, mouldering, waste away,
And Tombs, unfaithful to their trust, decay;
The Muse rewards the suffering good with fame,
Or wakes the prosperous villain into shame;
To the stern tyrant gives fictitious power
To reign the restless monarch of an hour.

Obedient to her call, this night appears
Great Herod rising from a length of years;
A name! enlarg'd with titles not his own,
Servile to mount, and savage on a throne:
Yet oft a throne is dire Misfortune's seat,
A pompous wretchedness, and woe in state!
But such the curse that from ambition springs,
For this he slaughter'd half a race of kings:
But now reviving in the British scene,
He looks majestic with a milder mien,
His features soften'd with the deep distress
Of love, made greatly wretched by excess:
From lust of power to jealous fury tost,
We see the tyrant in the lover lost.

4

O! Love, thou source of mighty joy or woe! Thou softest friend, or man's most dangerous foe! Fantastic power! what rage thy darts inspire, When too much beauty kindles too much fire! Those darts, to jealous rage stern Herod drove; It was a crime, but crime of too much love! Yet if condemn'd he falls-with pitying eyes Behold his injur'd Mariamne rise! No fancy'd tale! our opening scenes disclose Historic truth, and swell with real woes. Awful in virtuous grief the queen appears, And strong the eloquence of royal tears; By woes ennobled, with majestic pace, She meets Misfortune, glorious in disgrace!

Small is the praise of Beauty, when it flies Fair Honour's laws, at best but lovely Vice. Charms it like Venus with celestial air? Ev'n Venus is but scandalously fair; But when strict honour with fair features joins, Like heat and light, at once it warms and shines.

VARIATION.

What pangs, &c.

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