To what new clime, what distant sky, 15 STROPHE II. When Athens sinks by fates unjust, And Athens rising near the pole ; Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand, 21 ANTISTROPHE II. Ye gods! what justice rules the ball! 25 In every age, in every state! 30 Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, II. CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. SEMICHORUS. O tyrant Love! hast thou possess'd And arts but soften us to feel thy flame. 5 10 CHORUS. Love's purer flames the gods approve ; And sterner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes. Spent in a sudden storm of lust; A vapor fed from wild desire; A wandering, self-consuming fire. 15 20 But Hymen's kinder flames unite, SEMICHORUS. O, source of every social tie, What various joys on one attend, As son, as father, brother, husband, friend! 25 While thousand grateful thoughts arise; 30 Or views his smiling progeny ; What tender passions take their turns, His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns, 35 CHORUS. Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises; Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine! 40 Purest love's unwasting treasure, ODE ON SOLITUDE.* HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground : Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Bless'd, who can unconcernedly find In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease, 10 15 With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Steal from the world, and not a stone * This was a very early production of our author, written when he was not quite twelve years old. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. POPE, in a letter to Steele, at whose suggestion he had adopted the subject, gives this brief history of his composition:-"You have it,' he says, 'as Cowley calls it, warm from the brain: it came to me the first moment I waked this morning: yet you'll see, it was not so absolutely inspiration, but that I had in my head, not only the verses of Hadrian, but the fine fragment of Sappho.' Pope omitted to observe the close similarity of his lines to those of Flatman, an obscure writer of the century before:— When on my sick bed I languish, Between this rough versification and the polished elegance lity, but less good fortune. |