And now (unhappy search of thought.) I found
The fickle ear soon glutted with the sound,
Condemned eternal changes to pursue,
Tired of the last and eager of the new.
I bade the virgins and the youth advance,
To temper music with the sprightly dance.
In vain! too low the mimic motions seem;
What takes our heart, must merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, performed too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art:
And vexed I found that the musician's hand
Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command.
2. ABRA.
If haply Abra's will be now inclined
To range
the woods or chase the flying hind:
Soon as the sun awakes, the sprightly court
Leave their repose and hasten to the sport.
In lessen'd royalty and humbled state,
Thy king, Jerusalem, descends to wait
Till Abra comes. She comes! a milk-white steed,
Mixture of Persia's and Arabia's breed,
Sustains the nymph: her garments flying loose
(As the Sidonian maids or Thracian use)
And half her knee and half her breast appear,
By art, like negligence, disclosed and bare.
Her left hand guides the hunting courser's fright
A silver bow she carries in her right:
And from the golden quiver at her side,
Rustles the ebon arrow's feathered pride.
Sapphires and diamonds on her front display
An artificial moon's encreasing ray.
Diana, huntress, mistress of the groves,
The favourite Abra speaks and looks and moves.
Her as the present goddess I obey;
Beneath her feet the captive game I lay,
The mingled chorus sings Diana's fame:
Clarions and horns in louder peels proclaim
Her mystic praise: the vocal triumphs bound
Against the hills: the hills reflect the sound.
If, tired this evening with the hunted woods,
To the large fish ponds or the glassy floods
Her mind tomorrow points: a thousand hands,
To-night employed, obey the king's commands.
Upon the watery beach an artful pile
Of planks is joined and forms a moving isle.
A golden chariot in the midst is set,
And silver cygnets seem to feel its weight.
Abra, bright queen, ascends her gaudy throne,
In semblance of the Grecian Venus known:
Tritons and sea-green Naiads round her move;
And sing in moving strains the force of love:
Whilst, as the approaching pageant does appear,
And echoing crowds speak mighty Venus near,
I, her adorer, too, devoutly stand
Fast on the utmost margin of the land,
With arms and hopes extended, to receive
The fancied goddess rising from the wave.
XCIV. SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE.
ADDRESS TO PROVIDENCE.
O thou eternal Mind! whose wisdom sees
And rules our changes by unchanged degrees;
As with delight on thy grave works we look,
Say, art thou too with our light follies took?
For when thy bounteous hand, in liberal showers
Each way diffused thy various blessings pours;
We catch at them with strife, as vain to sight
As children, when for nuts they scrambling fight.
This snatching at a sceptre breaks it; he
That broken does ere he can grasp it see;
The poor world seeming like a ball that lights
Betwixt the hands of powerful opposites:
Which, while they cantonise in their bold pride,
They but an immaterial point divide.
O! whilst for wealthy spoils these fight, let me,
Though poor, enjoy a happy peace with thee.
XCV. THOMAS HEYWOOD.
SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS.
We, that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-hooks for our own desire.
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition :
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold.
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend from wind and rain.
As warm too, in an equal eye,
As those bestain'd in scarlet dye.
The shepherd with his home-spun lass
As many happy hours doth pass,
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly deck'd in gold and pearls ;
And, though but plain, to purpose woo,
Nay, often with less danger too.
Those that delight in dainties' store.
One stomach feed at once, no more;
And when with homely fare we feast,
With us as well it does digest;
And many times we better speed,
For our wild fruits no surfeits breed.
If we sometimes the willow wear,
By subtle swains that dare forswear,
We wonder whence it comes, and fear
They've been at court and learnt it there.
I could betray him then, as he has me :
But am I sure by that to right myself?
Lying's a certain mark of cowardice:
And, when the tongue forgets its honesty,
The heart and hand may drop their functions too
And nothing worthy be resolved or done.
2. MAN A PARADOX.
What a paradox
Is man! My father here, who boasts his honour, And e'en but now was warm in praise of justice, Can steel his heart against the widow's tears, And infant's wants: the widow and the infant Of Biron-of his son, his favourite son.
'Tis ever this; weak minds, who court opinion, And dead to virtuous feeling, hide their wants In pompous affection.
XCVII. JOHN POMFRET.
I'd have her reason all her passions sway:
Easy in company; in private, gay;
Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;
Still constant to herself and just to me.
A soul she should have for great actions fit;
Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit:
Courage to look bold danger in the face,
No fear, but only to be proud or base;
Quick to advise, by an emergence pressed,
To give good counsel, or to take the best.
I'd have the expression of her thoughts be such,
She might not seem reserved, nor talk too much,
That shows a want of judgment and of sense;
More than enough is but impertinence.
Her conduct regular, her mirth refined;
Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind:
Averse to vanity, revenge, and pride;
In all the methods of deceit untried:
So faithful to her friend, and good to all,
No censure might upon her actions fall:
Then would e'en envy be compelled to say,
She goes the least of womankind astray.
2 ON THE DEATH OF QUEEN MARY.
Weep then, once fruitful vales, and spring with yew!
Ye thirsty, barren mountains, welp with dew!
Let every flower on this extended plain
Not drop, but shrink into its womb again,
Ne'er to receive anew its yearly birth!—
Let every thing that's grateful leave the earth!-
Let mournful cypress, with each noxious weed,
A baleful venom in their place succeed!
Ye purling, querulous brooks, o'ercharged with grief;
Haste swiftly to the sea for more relief;
Then, tidings back, each to his sacred head,
Tell your astonished springs Celestia's dead!
XCVIII. WILLIAM WALSH.
What tortures can there be in hell
Compar'd to those fond lovers feel,
When doting on some fair one's charms,
They think she yields them to their rival's arms ?
As lions, tho' they once were tame,
Yet if sharp wounds their rage inflame,
Lift up their stormy voices, roar,
And tear the keepers they obeyed before.
So fares the lover when his breast
By jealous frenzy is possessed:
Forswears the nymph for whom he burns,
Yet straight to her, whom he forswears, returns.
But when the fair resolves his doubt,
The love comes in, the fear goes out;
The cloud of jealousy's dispell'd,
And the bright sun of innocence reveal'd;
With what strange raptures is he blest!
Raptures, too great to be express'd!
Tho' hard the torment's to endure,
Who would not have the sickness for the cure?
XCIX. JONATHAN SWIFT.
1. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.
In ancient times, as story tells,
The saints would often leave their cells,
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