The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its progrefs thro' the skies.
This the Beau monde shall from the Mall furvey, And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft Lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake. This Partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies, When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes; And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ra→ vish'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! Not all the treffes that fair head can boaft,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft. For, after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions flain, yourself shall die;
VER. 131. The Sylphs behold] These twolin fame reafon to keep in view the Machinery of
NOTES.
•foon] John Part Imanacks ever Pope, and th
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft, And all thofe treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the Mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midft the ftars infcribe Belinda's name. 150
ELEGY
To the MEMORY of an
HAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moon- light shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis fhe! ---but why that bleeding bofom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm 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? 10 Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her foul aspire Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
* See the Duke of Buckingham's verfes to a Lady defigning to retife into a Monaftery compared with Mr. Pope's Letters to feveral Ladies, p. 206. quarto Edition. She feems to be the
Ambition first sprung from your bleft 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. Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull fullen prisʼners in the body's cage : Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years Useless, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres; Like Eastern Kings a lazy state they keep, And close confin'd to their own palace, fleep. From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer fpirits flow,
And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.
But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood! 30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal juftice rules the ball, Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits, And frequent herfes fhall befiege your gates. There paffengers shall stand and pointing fay, (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) 40 Lo these were they, whose fouls the Furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others good, or melt at others woe. What can atone (oh ever-injur'd fhade!) Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghoft, or grac'd thy mournful bier, By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, 51 By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By ftrangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! What tho' no friends in fable weeds appear, 55 Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances, and the public fhow? What tho' no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
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