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Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And sterner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes.

What'is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm' of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wand'ring, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one ;
Chaste as cold Cynthia’s virgin light,

Productive as the Sun.


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Oh source of ev'ry social tye, : 25
United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?

Whether his hoary fire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise; 30
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye ;
Or views his smiling progeny;
What tender passions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move ?
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,

With rev’rence, hope, and love. 36

Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmizes,

Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes ;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine:
Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,
Days of ease, and nights of pleasure ;

Sacred Hymen! these are thine ».


REMARKS. 2 These two Chorus's are enough to shew us his great talents for this species of Poetry, and to make us lament he did not prosecute his purpose in executing some plans he had chalked out ; but the Character of the Managers of Playhouses was what (he said) soon determined him to lay aside all thoughts of that nature.

ODE on SOLITUDE. L APPPY the man, whose with and care 11 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 fupply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern’dly find '

Hours, days, and years slide foft away, 10 In health of body, peace of mind,

. Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

Together mixt; sweet recreation : And innocence, which most does please 15

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

a This was a very early production of our Author, written at out twelve years old. P.

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V ITAL spark of heav'nly flame:

Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,

Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; Angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?

Steals my senses, fhuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

- REMA R K 3. This ode was written in imitation of the famous fonnet of Hadrian to his departing foul ; but as much superior to his original in fenfe and sublimity, as the Christian Religion is to the Pagan,


The world recedes ; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears

With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I Ay!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

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