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Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide
Thus, generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires, The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires ; Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring, 135 Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string : Those sibyl leaves, the sport of every wind, (For poets ever were a careless kind,) By thee disposed, no farther toil demand, But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand.
So spread o'er Greece, the harmonious whole
E’en Homer's numbers charm’d by parts alone.
Oxford, Dec. 3,
Ver. 136. Spread the fair tints, or wake the vocal string :
146. Each beauteous image of the tuneful mind;
DIRGE IN CYMBELINE,
SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE,
SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen ;
No goblins lead their nightly crew : The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
Ver. 1. To fair Pastora's grassy tomb
7. But shepherd swains assemble here, 12. And dress thy bed with pearly dew!
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell ; Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed ; Beloved till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.
Ver. 17. When chiding winds, and beating rain,
In tempest shake the sylvan cell ;
Or 'midst the flocks, on every plain, 21. Each lovely scene shall thee restore; 23. Beloved till life could charm no more,
WRITTEN ON A PAPER WHICH CONTAINED A PIECE OF
BRIDE-CAKE, GIVEN TO THE AUTHOR BY A LADY.
Ye curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes,
By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize,
Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake!
This precious relic, form'd by magic power,
Beneath her shepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the silent hour, The secret present of a matchless maid.
The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request, 9
Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; Fears, sighs, and wishes of the enamour'd breast,
And pains that please, are mix'd in every part.
With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought,
From Paphian hills, and fair Cythera's isle; 14 And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought,
The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile.
Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent,
Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth; Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent,
And meeting ardours, and exulting youth.
Sleep, wayward God ! hath sworn, while these re
main, With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear, And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain,
With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear.
If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, 95
And fond of soul, thou hopest an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide,
0, much entreated, leave this fatal place!
Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plain
Consents at length to bring me short delight, Thy careless steps may scare her doves away,
And Grief with raven note usurp the night.