At Home no Fear his Peace of Mind molefts;
He rules, no Tyrant, over loyal Breasts.
Thrice happy Land, 'tis here the Druids fing,
And are Companions only for the King.
Far hence away the Sons of Battle rage,
Unknown, O! Albion, to thy golden Age.
One only Daughter was this Prince's Care,
Chafte as Diana, and as Venus fair;

When in the Woods the Nymph delights to

rove,

Matilda walks the Dian of the Grove;
Or, if the regal Dome is her Refort,
Matilda fhines the Venus of the Court;
If in the Grove, or in the Court, fhe moves,
She's ftill attended by a thousand Loves;
Each from her Eyes a thousand Arrows darts,
And leads in Triumph each a thousand Hearts.
All Eyes which fee her once confess her Sway,
And her bright Image never fades away.

Among the Youths, who dar'd to vow their
Flame,

A poor, but gallant, Prince, Carvilior, came;
He walk'd a God amidst th' admiring Throng,
The darling Subject of the Druid's Song.
To all the Beauties of a Form, were join'd
'Th' unfully'd Virtues of a Soul refin'd.
His ev'ry Act, his ev'ry Word, could move;
Mafter of all the Rhetoric of Love.

Of all the Suitors who the Fair addrefs'd, None found a Paffage to her virtuous Breast,

But

But Prince Carvilior. Firft her Eyes approve, Forc'd from her Heart at last to call it Love. They love, the Cause the fame, they both adore ;

Much do their Perfons charm, their Virtues

more.

Long had they both with mutual Anguish burn'd,

And, unmolested, Sigh for Sigh return'd.
Now in the Court, now in the lonely Walk,
Pleas'd with the fweet Varieties of Talk.
Their Vows in Secret they prefer to Fate,
In Life, in Love, to grant an equal Date :
And who fo blefs'd, who half fo blefs'd, as
they?

In Love we fancy all a Summer Day!

When most secure of all our Wish we ftand, Oft' are we caft upon a barren Land ; For cruel Fortune will a Moment find, A Moment to the Lover's Hopes unkind.

Cingetorix had now their Paffion feen, He fcan'd Carvilior's Form, his Air, his Mien; Much did he strive to count his Virtues o'er, He found them many; but he found him poor. It is refolv'd. In vain our Virtues plead, And weak their Succour in the Time of Need. Th' obdurate Sire forbids his longer Stay, The Lover drives, without a Look, away. Soon as he hears the rigid Father's Mind, The Prince obeys, and leaves his Soul behind. Banifh'd

Banish'd the Court, and forc'd from all he loves,

A fudden Shade he seeks, the lonely Groves. To the bleak Plains, wild as his Thoughts, he flies,

And begs the King may fee with younger Eyes. He fhuns all Converfe for the filent Bow'rs; And wears away with Grief the lazy Hours. Now on the Margin of a murm'ring Stream He fits all Day, and makes the Nymph his Theme.

Of Health regardless, on the Turf he lies, Loft to all Joy, till Sleep has clos'd his Eyes: On Beds of Rofes now he feems to rest, There reigns, Matilda, Monarch of thy Breast; All his pafs'd Scenes of Blifs his Dreams reftore ;

O! kind Delufion! he's a Wretch no more. The Phantom flies, and leaves him to his Pain; He wakes, alas! and is a Wretch again.

While thus the Prince his Lofs, Matilda,

bears,

Counting the Moments each an Age of Cares,
Alike the Fair of adverfe Stars complains,
And for Carvilior feels Carvilier's Pains.
True to her Love, as conftant to her Grief,
She feeds on Sorrow, and denies Relief.
To her no more the bright Affembly's gay;
Nothing has Charms; and Day no more is
Day.

As

As when the Sun bears from our Eyes the

Light,

And for a-while leaves half the World in Night, No more the Rofe in purple Pride is feen, The painted Tulip, nor the Willow green; So to the Fair all worldly Charms are dead, Her Sun, that gave the Day, Carvilior's fled. His wifh'd for Abfence frees from their Defpair,

The Croud of Lovers that addrefs the Fair! All hope Advantage from Carvilior's Pain, And all their Vows renew, and all in vain. With mighty Dow'rs fome strive her Soul to

move;

And Crowns are laid to be the Snares of Love. Nor mighty Dow'rs, nor Crowns, can change the Dame,

True to her Virtue, and her firft-born Flame. At a fmall Distance from the Palace stood,

For sweet Retirement, a convenient Wood; There would the Princefs, with her Maid, re

move,

To fhun the Concourfe of detefted Love.

And now the Damfels crop the woodland Flow'rs,

Now tell her tender Tales in fragrant Bow'rs; Now fecret to the inmoft Shade they go, Where a cool riv'let's filver Currents flow; In which divefted of the Veil of Dress, Whene'er fhe blaz'd in modeft Nakedness,

The

The Sun enamour'd, as Traditions say, Would, gazing on her Charms, prolong the Day.

Hither two Lords, who long, too long, had borne

Thy Frowns, Matilda, and of Love the Scorn, As void of Fear the Nymphs were bathing,

came,

And blefs'd the Hour that should revenge their Shame.

Once jealous Rivals, now with Vengeance fir'd,

They league against the Virtues they admir'd.
Behind a Thicket they conceal'd remain,
And view the Goddess with her Virgin Train
Her iv'ry Arms, and fnowy Breafts, explore,
The Waves forbid it, they can see no more.
They doubt, or fhall they bear the Fair away,
Or act their Horrors in the Face of Day.
The dire Remembrance of their flighted Flame,
Their burning Paffion for the scornful Dame,
Their brutal Nature, prone to Rapes, com-
bine

To execute in Haste the black Design.

Quick on the River's Bank each Monster ftands,

Fire in their Looks, their Poniards in their

Hands;

No