Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail, When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding

fail: Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.'

So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued: . Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her prude. * To arms, to arms!' the fierce virago cries, And swift as lightning to the combat flies. All side in parties, and begin th' attack; Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; Heroes and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise, And base and treble voices strike the skies. No common weapons in their hands are found; Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.

So when bold Homer makes the gods engage, And heavenly breasts with human passions rage; 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms; Jove's thunder roars, heaveu trembles all around, Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps re

sound: Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives

way, · And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!

Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height: Clapp'd his glad wings, and sat to view the fight: Propp'd on their bodkin-spears, the sprites survey The growing combat, or assist the fray.

While through the press enrag'd Thalestris flies Avd scatters death around from both her eyes, . A beau and witling perish'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song. • O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,' Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair.. A mournful glance sir Fopling upwards cast, • Those eyes are made so killing - was his last. Thus on Mæander's flowery margin lies Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies,

When bold sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain, But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; The doubtful beam long nods from side to side; At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.

See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies, With more than usual lightning in her eyes: Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try, Who sought no more than on his foe to die. But this bold lord, with manly strength endued, She with one finger and a thumb subdued; Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; The Gnomes direct, to every atom just, The pungent grains of titillating dust. Sudden with starting tears each eye o'erflows, And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.

Now meet thy fate,' incens'd Belinda cried, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side (The same, his ancient personage to deck, Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, In three seal-rings; which after, melted down, Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown: Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears).

• Boast not my fall,' he cried, insulting foe! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind: All that I dread is leaving you behind! Rather than so, ah let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames--but burn alive.'

• Restore the lock,' she cries ; and all around, • Restore the lock !' the vaulted roofs re.

bound.

Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain
Roard for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!
The lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In every place is sought, but sought in vain:
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So Heaven decrees ! with Heaven who can con.

test?
Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere,
Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there.
There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vases,
And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases:
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound;
The courtier's promises, and sick man's prayers,
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for guats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the muse she saw it upward rise, Though mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes : (So Rome's great founder to the heavens with

drew, To Proculus alone confess'd in view): A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, The heavens bespangling with disheveli'd light. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies. This the beau-monde shall from the Mall

survey, And hail with music its propitious ray. This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, When next he looks through Galileo's eyes; And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy*

** ravish'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,
This lock, the muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

TO THE

MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY.

W HAT beckoning ghost, along the moonlight

shade,
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too form a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye else, ye powers! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire ?
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods :
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls,'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;
Like eastern kings a lazy state they keep,
And, close confin'd to their own palace, sleep.

From these perhaps (eré nature bade her die)
Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer spirits flow,
And separate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the soul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood !

« ZurückWeiter »