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What frenzy in my bosom raged, And by what care to be assuaged ? What gentle youth I would allure, Whom in my artful toils secure ? Who does thy tender heart subdue, Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who? Though now he shuns thy longing arms, He soon shall court thy slighted charms ; Though now thy offerings he despise, He soon to thee shall sacrifice ; Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn, And be thy victim in his turn.

My bosom glow'd: the subtle flame
Ran quickly through my vital frame ;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,

I fainted, sunk, and died away (* Joseph Warton thinks that Addison lent a helping hand to Philips in these translations. He was fond of rendering such assistance, and may have done so; but it is idle to indulge in conjectures and plausible perhapses.]

LEONARD WELSTED.

(Born, 1688. Died, 1746-7.]

LEONARD WELSTED, a victim of Pope's satire, whose verses did not always deserve it.

FROM HIS “SUMMUM BONUM.”

SMILE, my Hephestion, smile, no more be seen This dupe to anger, and this slave to spleen ; No more with pain ambition's trappings view; Nor

envy the false greatness, nor the true. Let dull St. Bevil dream o'er felons' fates, Bright Winnington in senates lead debates, Vain Bulbo let the sheriff's robe adorn, And Holles * wake to bless the times unborn.

This not disturbs you, nor your bliss alloys,
Then why should fortune's sports and human toys ?
What is 't to us if Clod the self-same day
Trolls in the gilded car and drives the dray?
If Richvil for a Roman patriot pass,
And half the Livery vote for Isinglass ?
With grateful mind let's use the given hour,
And what's our own enjoy and in our power.
To his great chiefs the conqueror Pyrrhus spoke,
Two moons shall wane, and Greece shall own our
"Tis well, replied the friend ; admit it so, [yoke.
What next? Why next to Italy I'll go,
And Rome in ashes lay.- What after that?
Waste India's realms.- What then? Then sit and

The palm excels that trembles o'er the brooks,
The bastard rose not half so gaudy looks,
The myrrh is worth, that scents Arabia's sky,
An hundred gourds, yet rises not so high.

* Welsted's great patron, the Duke of Newcastle.

chat;

Then quaff the grape, and mirthful stories tell.
Sir, you may do so now, and full as well.
Look through but common life, look o'er mankind,
A thousand humbler madmen there you'll find ;
A thousand heroes of Epirus view;
Then scorn to beat this hackney'd path anew.
In search of fancied good forget to roam,
Nor wander from your safer, better home.

For social weal alike each state was made,
And every calling meant the others' aid ;
Together all in mystic numbers roll,
All in their order act, and serve the whole,
Who guard the laws, or bid the orchat bloom,
Who wield the sceptre, and who guide the loom.

An easy and contented mind is all,
On whom and where it will let glory fall ;
Let us the soul in even balance bear,
Content with what we have and what we are.

On rapt'rous visions long had Berkley fed,
The lemon groves were ever in his head ;
He hangs on Waller*, and the landscape aids,
Sees in Bermuda blooming Ida's shades.

See Heartgood, how he tugs for empty praise ;
He's got the vine, yet scrambles for the bays :
A friendly neighbour born, his vain desire
Prompts him to get a little cubit higher ;
When all unvex'd, untroubled, he might live,
And all that nature ask'd his farm would give.
Colville and Madge one field, one cow possess’d,
Had dwelt unanxious many years and blest;
A quiet conscience, and their neighbours' praise
They held—It was in Friar Bacoa's days.
No thief alarm'd the lowly cottage roof,
And pride and base contention kept aloof.
At length the rumour all about was flown
The monk had found the philosophic stone.

Quoth Colville, be't-in comfort, peace we live, · For his arcanum not a hair I'll give;

To me all wealth contentment does impart,
I have this chemic secret in my heart.
Let Munich bow the haughty Othman crest,
Among my humble teams I'll be as blest ;
Let the great Schach o'er trembling Ganges ride,
I'll boast more conquests by my chimney side.
What post you stand in, trust me, my Hephestion,
The part you bear in life is not the question ;
But how you act it, how your station grace,
There is the matter; that's the point in case.
All one if peer or pedlar you sustain,
A laureld victor be or shepherd swain;

'Tis said—'tis done--the project quick prevails;
He gets the promised freight-he weds-he sails.
The storms loud rattle, but on storms he smiles,
They will but waft me to Bermuda's isles.
At length the port he gains, when all his dreams
He vanish'd views, and owns the airy schemes:
The orange branch had lost its fragrant load,
The cedar waved not, nor the citron blow'd;
In Eden's stead he sees a desert stand,
For figs and vines a poor unpeopled land ;
For balmy breezes, and for cloudless skies,
He hears around the whistling tempest rise.
And is this all ? said the good Dean of Down,
Is this the end, my hope and labour's crown!
Too blest the swain o'er Ormond's flowery dales
Who roves at ease, or sleeps in Derry's vales.
Henceforth I'll gratulate my native shore,
In search of bright delusions range no more,
Content to be, to cure this rambling itch,
An humble Bishop, and but barely rich.

* Waller's poem on the Summer Islands.

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Of the history of this author I am sorry that I condemned to oblivion. If the extracts should can give no account. His poem of Love and Folly

appear to be tedious, the only apology I can offer was published in April 1749. It seemed to me is, the difficulty of making short specimens of a to be somewhat better than that which is generally i story at all intelligible.

LOVE AND FOLLY.

ARRAIGNMENT AND TRIAL OF CUPID.

The gods, in senate to debate,
And settle high affairs of state,
Where vast Olympus' summits rise,
Descended from the azure skies :
As their great sire and lord revered,
Their cloud-compelling Jove, appear'd ;

Calm in his lap the thunders lay,
The symbols of imperial sway,
While Heaven's high powers sat round his throne,
And deck'd it like a splendid zone :
There Juno and the Paphian Queen,
The Graces in their train, were seen ;

And, doating on their lewd amours, Had turn'd Religion out of doors.

Silence proclaim'd, th' assessors wait,
Anxious for Love's impending fate,
When Themis, watching Dian's eyes,
Straight to th' etherial court applies,
And, like intrepid Yorke*, demands
Impartial justice at their hands;
That no mean bias warp their hearts
To Cupid's treacherous charms and arts,
While they, by long establish'd laws,
Decide the great approaching cause ;
That on their votes depended all
Which they could dear or sacred call ;
In heav'n their peace, on earth their fame,
Their endless glory or their shame;
That e'en their temples, priests, and power,
Hung on this one decisive hour.

Amidst her father's radiant race,
The chaste Diana took her place ;
Without his helmet, sword, or car,
There frown'd the haughty God of War;
There joyous smiled the God of Wine,
With numbers more of birth divine ;
Metis, who prudent counsels guides,
And o'er the letter'd world presides ;
Themis, who Heaven's dread laws attends,
And Truth's deserted cause defends ;
Sage Vesta through the earth renown'd,
And Cybele with turrets crown'd ;
Neptune, the Ocean's awful lord;
Pluto, by Hell's dark realms adored ;
Pan, to whose altars shepherds bow ;
Ceres, inventress of the plough ;
And last sat down old gay Silenus,
With Vulcan, spouse and slave to Venus.
Grand was the pomp, for thither all
Attended on the Thunderer's call ;
The heavens themselves were in a blaze;
Phoebus was there, bedeck'd with rays,
Yet scarcely, though he look'd so bright,
Was seen ʼmidst such a flood of light,
Where each with beams celestial shone,
Beyond the splendour of the sun;
Together by great Jove convened,
To hear the God of Love arraign'd.
Solemn the session, high the cause,
For Love had broke through all their laws,
And made the deities obey,
As vassals, his tyrannic sway ;
Enslaved, they dragg'd his galling chain,
And mourn’d his power, but mourn'd in vain.
Kindling his flames in every breast,
He never gave th’immortals rest,
But, fond their weakness to expose,
Involved them in a thousand woes,
While Jove's despised omnipotence
Against his arts found no defence.
This haughty treatment had o'erthrown
Their empire, though it raised his own;
For, with his all-subduing bow,
He sunk their power and fame so low,
And, ever since his fatal birth,
Ruled so supreme o'er heaven and earth,
That mortals now to Cupid paid
The chief oblations which they made,
And slighting every name above,
Adored no other god but Love.

Therefore, in right and truth's support,
She humbly moved a rule of court,
That Hermes might his prisoner bring
Before his peers and Heaven's high King,
To hear, by their decree, his crimes
Condemn'd to late succeeding times,
And heaven and earth at once set free
From such a traitor's tyranny.

High Jove, who on th' imperial throne, Sceptred and throned, was placed alone, Looks awful round th' assenting gods, Shakes his ambrosial curls, and nods.

Straight, Hermes, at his sire's command,
His wreathed caduceus in his hand,
From his close ward the caitiff brings,
With hands unbound, but pinion'd wings :
While at his back his bow unstrung,
Tied to his feather'd quiver hung.
By Dian's order Momus bore
The mace, and solemn stalk'd before ;
When Hermes, with obeisance low,
Show'd to the gods their daring foe :
But such a foe, so wond'rous fair,
Each grace of Venus in his air,

So bloom'd his ever youthful years,
So moving were his silent tears,
That half heaven's powers, with all their zeal,
Some tender pangs began to feel,
Lest such a god, indulging all
Their pleasures, should unpitied fall,
And turning things from bad to worse,
Make immortality a curse.

Besides, to men of worth and sense
His shameless conduct gave offence :
He drank, he wench'd, he gamed, he swore,
His life with crimes was blotted o'er;
He scorn'd good Hymen's sacred ties,
And made a trade of vows and lies;
Fair Virtue's praise, and honour'd fame,
He laugh'd at as an empty name ;
By which example all the nations
Lay quite exposed to great temptations,

Venus, who saw them much amazed,
While piteous on his form they gazed,
Straight pray'd the court with humble pray’r,
Her son might be allow'd a chair,

* The Lord High Chancellor.

Who was infirm, and scarce had slept
One hour since Jove--She paused and wept ;
The God seem'd moved, and though he guess'd
Her foes the motion would contest,
Glad their mean malice to prevent,
Nods from the throne his kind assent;
As jurors, whom the world believes
Great rogues, oft sit on petty thieves,
He knew some led, amidst the sky,
Worse lives than him they were to try;
And, loth poor Love to treat too ill,
Grants him a seat against their will.

Various and changing as the wind,
He parts whom Hymen's rites had join'd;
And whispers in the husband's ears
A thousand cruel doubts and fears,
For strife and mischief are his joy.
Such, Venus, is your lovely boy!
Who, though he boasts that Jove's high blood
Rolls in his veins its sacred flood,
Yet has his mother's milk o'erflown
The tide, and made the mass her own.

Thus lollid at ease the little thief,
When Dian rose, and from her brief
Show'd, with just truth and cogent reason,
Why she impeach'd him there of treason.

Quick let the wretch his sins atone,
And Jove at last resume his throne !
Doom, doom him 'midst the shades below,
To shoot his darts and bend his bow;
There let him labour to destroy
The little peace the damn’d enjoy.

Before you comes arraign’d A wretch that has our shrines profaned, That basely labours to o’erthrow Our bliss above, our power below.

She ceased : while half the powers around
Assented first with sighs profound,
Then with her generous ardour moved,
A loud applause her zeal approved.

Shall Heav'n alone Calm see this wretch its Gods disown, And bear the scorn with which he treats The rulers of these sacred seats ! Apollo's bow, and Neptune's trident, He tramples on, and takes a pride in't ; Ev'n Mars, who leads the radiant files Of war, is vanquish'd by his wiles ; From Bacchus he his thyrsis wrests, And of his bolts high Jove divests ; From Hermes charms the magic rod, And strips of all his wings the God; Pluto to him, and Proserpine, Were forced their empire to resign, And, humbled, found infernal fires Less violent than Love's desires : These crimes are vouch'd by flagrant facts, And treason by an hundred acts.

Straight, Cupid, rising from his place,
Smiled placid with enchanting grace ;
Silent he paused, and to the skies,
Though blushing, raised his beauteous eyes,
Then sigh’d, and round the radiant crowd,
Saluting, with respect he bow'd :
One coward tear was stealing down,
But quick he check'd it with a frown ;
And while with matchless charms he shone,
Thus to the court his plea begun.
'Tis said that Love, whene'er he pleads,
With easy eloquence succeeds:
But that, ye powers, I'll never try,
Nor on vain rhetoric rely ;
'Tis by the force of truth I come
To strike my false accusers dumb.

To dear integrity I trust,
As I am guiltless, you are just ;
While that I make my sole defence,
I laugh at envy's impotence.

These are his deeds above ; on earth
What mischiefs owe to him their birth!
There, while his frantic slaves he tames,
His rage the suffering world inflames;
He shoots around his fatal darts,
To rack and torture all their hearts;
The base deceiver there eludes
The vestal vows, the prayers of prudes ;
E’en those weak souls he deigns to bless,
He strives with anguish to distress ;
He triumphs o'er the racking pain
In which his vassals drag his chain ;
Fear, joy, grief, hope, desire, despair,
By turns their wretched bosoms tear.

Let those (and those, I hope, are few),
Let those who ne'er his treasures knew,
Brand with all crimes unhappy Love,
He's better known to you and Jove.
And if I've made the Gods employ
Some days in that transcendant joy,
I trust my greatest fault will be,
Their bliss was not prolong'd by me.
Whilst absence, fate, or time control
That noblest passion of the soul,
Let each Celestial here declare
If aught like Love deserves their care.

Frequent divides the dearest friends, And breaks all laws to gain his ends : Rapes, murders, treasons, he commits, False, true, kind, cruel, all by fits :

What joys can match fond lovers' pains, What freedom 's equal to their chains !

What transports swell their hopes and fears,
What softness, sweetness, in their tears !
Such tenderness, when fond they mourn,
Such ecstacy when hopes return;
Such longing for th' enchanting bliss,
Such raptures in a smile or kiss,
Are secrets which the Gods conceal,
And none but lovers know or feel.

Must I be doom'd, if human kind
In love disclose an impious mind ?
With oaths, and death, and falsehood play,
Whilst perjured vows the heart betray.
If Heaven's despised—if all their aim
Be wealth or lust—am I to blamne ?
No, mighty powers ! you know too well,
In spite of heaven, in spite of hell,
Of slighted love and reason too,
And all that pitying Love can do,
Men, to indulge their passions prone,
Owe to themselves their crimes alone.

If joys like these you treason call,
I own I have produced them all :
Contrived and plann'd by me alone,
The great foundation of my throne ;
And hard, great Deities, it were,
If mortal men such bliss should share,
And yet th' eternal choir above
Be quite denied the sweets of Love.

In heaven, on earth, above, below, Whate'er is pleasing I bestow.

Old Time and all the laughing hours, '| Watch o'er my gifts and nurse my powers ;

Mirth, Joy, and all th' inspired throng
Of Muses, tune for me their song ;
And if they fan my fires, I bring
Sweetness and force to all they sing.

Yet, cruel Gods, if you decree
To spare mankind and punish me ;
If I must be their victim made,
I am not for myself afraid,
But for the woes my wretched fate
Will soon in either world create :
While heaven and earth my fall o'erturns,
And nature my destruction mourns.
For what can stand, if Love contemn'd
To shades infernal be condemnd ?
Yet since your gloomy frowns declare
My only refuge is despair,
Not thus to leave you all in woe,
Take this last boon before I go ;
Take it, and feeling Love's sweet pain,
Ere you condemn me think again.”
He spoke, and secret cast his darts,
Snatch'd from his quiver, at their hearts.

Men's talents raised by me improve,
For wisdom springs and grows with Love ;
By me adorn'd, the human mind
Is soften'd, polish'd, and refined.

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