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And when calm Orna with the count she saw, Hope (who, though weak, a willing painter is, And busily does every pattern draw)

By that example could not work amiss.

For soon she shap'd her lord and her so kinde,
So all of love; till fancy wrought no more
When she perceiv'd him sit with Rhodalind;
But froward-painter-like the copy tore.

And now they move; and she thus rob'd, believes
(Since with such haste they bear her wealth away)
That they, at best, are but judicious thieves,
And know the noble vallue of their prey.

And then she thus complain'd! "Why royal maid!
Injurious greatness! did you hither come,
Where pow'rs strong nets of wyre were never laid?
But childish love took cradle as at home.

"Where can we safe our harmless blessings keep, Since glorious courts our solitude invade?

Bells which ring out, when th' unconcern'd would sleep; [shade! False lights to scare poor birds in country "Or if our joys their own discov'ry make, Envy (whose tongue first kills whom she devours)

Calls it our pride; envy, the poys'nous snake, Whose breath blasts maids, as innocent as flowres!

"Forgive me, beauteous greatness, if I grow
Distemper'd with my fears, and rudely long
To be secure; or praise your beauty so,
As to believe that it may do me wrong;

"And you, my plighted lord, forgive me too, If, since your worth and my defects I find, I fear what you in justice ought to do;

And praise your judgment when I doubt you kind.” Now sudden fear o'er all her beauty wrought The pale appearance of a killing frost; And careful Orgo, when she started, thought She had her pledge, the precious emrauld, lost. But that kinde heart, as constant as her own,

She did not miss; 'twas from a sudden sence, Least in her lover's heart some change was grown, And it grew pale with that intelligence.

Soon from her bosome she this emrauld took :
"If now," (said she) "my lord my heart deceaves
This stone will by dead paleness make me look
Pale as the snowy skin of lilly leaves."

But such a cheerful green the gemm did fling
Where she oppos'd the rayes, as if she had
Been dy'de in the complexion of the spring,
Or were by nimphs of Brittain valleys clad.
Soon she with earnest passion kist the stone;
Which ne'er till then had suffer'd an eclipse;
But then the rayes retir'd, as if it shone

In vain, so neer the rubies of her lips.

Yet thence remov'd, with publick glory shines!
She Orgo blest, who had this relique brought :
And kept it like those reliques lock'd in shrines,
By which the latest miracles were wrought.

For soon respect was up to rev'rence grown;
Which fear to superstition would sublime,

But that her father took fear's ladder down;
Lose steps, by which distress to Heav'n would
climbe.

He knew, when fear shapes heav'nly pow'r so just
And terrible, (parts of that shape drawn true)
It vailes Heav'n's beauty, love; which when we
trust,

Our courage honours him to whom we sue!

SELECT POEMS

OF

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

WITH

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

FROM CAMPBELL.

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