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Three roses of an eastern hue,
Sweet-swelling with ambrosial dew.
How each, with glowing pride, displays
The riches of its circling rays!
How all, in sweet abundance, shed
Perfumes, that might revive the dead!
"Now tell me, fair one, if you know,
Whence these balmy spirits flow?
Whence springs this modest blush of light
Which charms at once and pains the sight?"
The fair one knew, but wou'd not say,
So blush'd and smiling went her way.
Impatient, next the Muse I call;
She comes, and thus would answer all.
"Fool," (and I sure deserv'd the name)
"Mark well the beauties of the dame,
And can you wonder why so fair,
And why so sweet the roses are?
Her cheek with living purple glows
Which blush'd its rays on every rose;
Her breath exhal'd a sweeter smell
Than fragrant fields of asphodel;
The sparkling spirit in her eyes
A kindlier influence supplies
Than genial suns and summer skies.
Now can you wonder why so fair,
And why so sweet the roses are?"
"Hold, tuneful trifler," I reply'd,
"The beauteous cause 1 now descry'd,
Hold, talk no more of summer skies,
Of genial suns and-splendid lies;
Of fragrant fields of asphodel,

And brightest rays and sweetest smell;
Whatever poetry can paint,
Or Muse can utter-all is faint:
Two words had better all exprest; —

• She took the roses from-her breast."

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In revenge he dealt the blow
On her favourite below;
In revenge of smiling eyes,
Sweetest emblems of the skies!
"O my finger!" Stella cry'd:
Would for Stella I had dy'd!
"O my finger!" thrice she cry'd,
Thrice for Stella I'd have dy'd!
Stella! fairest of the fair,
Stella, Venus' dearest care!
Venus, red'ning dropp'd a tear:
-"Here, you sirrah, Cupid, here!
Dare you torture like a foe,
Stella, my belov'd below?
Curst revenge on smiling eyes,
Sweetest emblems of the skies!"
Cupid, smit with Stella's eye,
Answer'd Venus with a sigh,
"Rather, mamma, pity me;
I am wounded more than she."

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[der',

That love in tragedies has nought to do:
Ladies, if so, what would they make of you?
Why, make you useless, nameless, harmless things:
How false their doctrine, I appeal to-kings;
Appeal to Afric, Asia, Greece, and Rome:
And, faith, we need not go-so far from home.
For us the lover burns and bleeds and dies,
1 fancy we have comets in our eyes;
And they, you know, are-signs of tragedies.
Thanks to my stars, or, rather, to my face,
Sempronius perish'd for that very case.
The boist'rous wretch bawl'd out for peals of thun-
Because he could not force me to come under.
Lard! how I tremble at the narrow scape;
Which of you would not-tremble—at a rape?
Howe'er that be, this play will plainly prove,
That liberty is not so sweet as love.
Think, ladies, think what fancies fill'd my head,
To find the living Juba for the dead!
Tho' much he suffer'd on my father's side,
I'll make him cry, ere long, "I'm satisfied!"
For I shall prove a mighty-loving bride.
But now, to make an end of female speeches,
I'll quit my petticoats to-wear the breeches.

[Runs out and comes in in his night gown.
We have chang'd the scene: for gravity becomes
A tragedy, as hearses sable plumes.
His country's father you have seen, to-night,
Unfortunately great, and sternly right.
Fair Liberty, by impious power opprest,
Found no asylum but her Cato's breast:
Thither, as to a temple, she retir'd,

And when he plung'd the dagger she expir'd.
lf Liberty revive at Cato's name,

And British bosoms catch the Roman flame:
If hoary villains rouse your honest ire,
And patriot-youths with love of freedom fire,
If Lucia's grief your graceful pity move,
And Marcia teach the virgins virtuous love,
You'll own, ev'n in this methodizing age,
The mildest school of morals-is the stage.

To you, the polish'd judges of our cause,
Whose smiles are honour, and whose nods applause,
Humble we bend: encourage arts like these;
For tho' the actors fail'd-they strove to please.
Perhaps, in time, your favours of this night
May warm us like young Marcus self to fight,
Like Cato to defend, like Addison to write,

THE HAPPY LIFE.

À BOOK, a friend, a song, a glass,
A chaste, yet laughter-loving lass,
To mortals various joys impart,
laform the sense, and warm the heart,

Thrice happy they, who, careless, laid,
Death a kind-embow'ring shade,
With rosy wreaths their temples crown,
In rosy wine their sorrows drown.

Mean while the Muses wake the lyre,
The Graces modest mirth inspire,
Good-natur'd humour, harmless wit;
Well-temper'd joys, nor grave, nor light.
Act 4, Scene 2.

Let sacred Venus with her heir, And dear lanthe too be there. Music and wine in concert move With beauty, and refining love.

There Peace shall spread her dove-like wing,
And bid her olives round us spring.
There Truth shall reign, a sacred guest!
And Innocence, to crown the rest.

Begone, ambition, riches, toys,
And splendid cares, and guilty joys.—
Give me a book, a friend, a glass,
And a chaste, laughter-loving lass.

THE WEDDING MORN.

A DREAM.

'Twas morn: but Theron still his pillow prest:
(His Annabella's charms improv'd his rest.)
An angel form, the daughter of the skies,
Descending blest, or seem'd to bless his eyes;
White from her breast a dazzling vestment roll'd,
With stars bespangled and celestial gold.
She mov'd, and odours, wide, the circuit fili'd;
She spake, and honey from her lips distill'd.
"Behold, illustrious comes, to bless thy arms,
Thy Annabella, breathing love and charms!
O melting mildness, undissembled truth!
Fair flow'r of age, yet blushing bloom of youth!
Fair without art, without design admir'd,
Prais'd by the good, and by the wise desir'd.
By Art and Nature taught and form'd to please,
With all the sweet simplicity of ease,

In public courteous-for no private end;
At home-a servant; and abroad-a friend.
Her gentle manners, unaffected grace,
And animated sweetness of her face,
Her faultless form, by decency retin'd,
And bright, unsullied sanctity of mind,
The christian Graces breathing in her breast,
Her whole shall teach thee to be more than blest.
"Tis Virtue's ray that points her sparkling eyes,
Her face is beauteous, for her soul is wise.
As from the Sun refulgent glories roll,
Which feed the starry host and fire the pole,
So stream upon her face the beauties of her soul.
Tho' the dove's languish melts upon her eye,
And her cheeks mantle with the castern sky,
When seventy on her temples sheds its snow,
Dim grow her eyes and cheeks forget to glow,
Good-nature shall the purple loss supply,
Good-sense shine brighter than the sparkling eye:
In beauteous order round and round shall move,
Love cool'd by reason, reason warm'd by love.

66

Receive Heaven's kindest blessing! And regard This blessing as thy virtue's best reward. When Beauty wakes her fairest forms to charm, When Music all her pow'rs of sound to warm, Her golden floods when wanton Freedom rolls, And Plenty pours herself into our bowls; When with tumultuous throbs our pulses beat, And dubious Reason totters on her scat, The youth how steady, how resolv'd the guide Which stems the full luxuriant, pleasing tide! For these, and virtues such as these is given Thy Annabella! Q belov'd of Heav'n!-

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Hail Marriage! everlasting be thy reign!
The chain of being is thy golden chain.
From hence mankind, a growing race depend,
Began with Nature, shall with Nature end.
The mists, which stain'd thy lustre, break away,
In glory lessen, and refine to day:

No more the jest of wits, of fools the scorn,
Which God made sacred, and which priests adorn,
"Ascend the bed, while genial Nature pours
Her balmy blessings round and nectar-show'rs.
And lo! the future opens on my eyes,
I see soft buds, and smiling flow'rs arise:
The human blossoms every charm display,
Unfold their sweets, and beautify the day.
The father's virtues in the sons combine;
The mother's graces in the daughters shine.
So where an angel spreads his dove-like wing
Young laurels sprout, and tender myrtles spring;
Sweet dews descending consecrate the ground,
And open a new Paradise around!

I see!"-But here the scene which blaz'd behind
Her fancy dazzled, and dissolv'd his mind.
He woke: yet still he thinks he sees and hears;
Till real sounds salutes his ravish'd ears:
"Arise! the bride invites thee to be blest?"
He rose. But silence only speaks the rest.

AN HYMN TO MAY.

-Nunc formosissimus annus, Virg.

PREFACE.

As Spenser is the most descriptive and florid of all our English writers, I attempted to imitate his manner in the following vernal poem. I have been very sparing of the antiquated words, which are too frequent in most of the imitations of this author; however, I have introduced a few here and there, which are explain'd at the bottom of each page where they occur. Shakspeare is the poet of Nature, in adapting the affections and passions to his characters; and Spenser in describing her delightful scenes and rural beauties. His lines are most musically sweet; and his descriptions most delicately abundant, even to a wantonness of painting: but still it is the music and painting of Nature. We find no ambitious ornaments, or epigrammatical turns, in his writings, but a beautiful simplicity; which pleases far above the glitter of pointed wit. I endeavoured to avoid the affectation of the one, without any hopes of attaining the graces of the other kind of writing.

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myself in this canto to take Spenser for my model, I chose the stanza; which I think adds both a sweetness and solemnity at the same time to subjects of this rural and flowery nature. The most descriptive of our old poets have always used it from Chaucer down to Fairfax, and even long after him. I followed Fletcher's measure in his Purple Island; a poem printed at Cambridge in twelve cantos, in quarto, scarce heard of in this age, yet the best in the allegorical way, (next to the Fairy Queen) in the English language. The Alexandrine line, I think, is peculiarly graceful at the end, and is an improvement on Shakspeare's Venus and Adonis. After all, Spenser's hymns will excuse me for using this measure; and Scaliger in the third book of his Poetics, tells us, (from Dydimus) that the hymns of the Athenians were sung to the lyre, the pipe, or some musical instrument: and this, of all other kinds of verse is, certainly, lyrical. But enough of the stanza: for (as sir William Davenant observes in his admirable preface to Gondibert) numbers in verse, like distinct kinds of music, are composed to the uncertain and different taste of several ears. I hope I have no apology to make for describing the beauties the pleasures, and the loves of the season in too tender or too florid a manner. The nature of the subject required a luxuriousness of versification, and a softness of sentiment; but they are pure and chaste at the same time: otherwise this canto had neither been ever written, or offered to the public. If the sentiments and verse be florid and tender, I shall excuse myself in the words of Virgil (though not in his sense). -Nunc mollissima fandi Tempora!

ARGUMENT.

Subject proposed. Invocation of May. Description of her: her operations on nature. Bounty recommended; in particular at this season. Vernal apostrophe. Love the ruling passion in May. The celebration of Venus, her birthday in this month. Rural retirement in spring. Conclusion.

ETHEREAL daughter of the lusty Spring,
And sweet Favonius, ever-gentle May!
Shall I, unblam'd, presume of thee to sing,
And with thy living colours gild my lay?
Thy genial spirit mantles in my brain;
My numbers languish in a softer vein:
I pant, too emulous, to flow in Spenser's strain.
Say, mild Aurora of the blooming year,
With storms when winter blackens Nature's face;
When whirling winds the howling forest tear,
And shake the solid mountains from their base:
Say, what refulgent chambers of the sky
Veil thy beloved glories from the eye, [dren die?
For which the nations pine, and Earth's fair chil-

Where Leda's twins, forth from their diamond tow'r,

Alternate, o'er the night their beams divide;.
In light embosom'd, happy, and secure
From winter-rage, thou choosest to abide.

1 Castor and Pollux.

Blest residence! For, there, as poets tell,
The powers of poetry and wisdom2 dwell;
Apollo wakes the arts; the Muses strike the shell.

Certes o'er Rhedicyna's laurel'd mead,
(For ever spread, ye laurels, green and new!)
The brother-stars their gracious nurture shed,
And secret blessings of poetic-dew.

They bathe their horses in the learned flood,
With flame recruited for th' etherial road;
And deem fair Isis' swans 4 fair as their father-god.

No sooner April, trim'd with girlands 5 gay,
Rains fragrance o'er the world, and kindly show'rs;
But, in the eastern-pride of beauty, May,
To gladden Earth, forsakes her heav'nly bow'rs,
Restoring Nature from her palsy'd state.
April, retire; ne longer, Nature, wait:
Soon may she issue from the Morning's golden gate.

Come, bounteous May! in fulness of thy might,
Lead briskly on the mirth-infusing Hours,
All-recent from the bosom of delight,
With nectar nurtur'd; and involv'd in flow'rs:
By Spring's sweet blush,by Nature's teeming womb;
By Hebe's dimply smile, by Flora's bloom;
By Venus'-self (for Venus'-self demands thee)
come!

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Love-sick with odours !-Now to order roll'd,
It melts upon her bosom's dainty mould,
Or, curling round her waist, disparts its wavy
gold.

Young-circling roses, blushing, round them throw
The sweet abundance of their purple rays,
And lilies, dip'd in fragrance, freshly blow,
With blended beauties, in her angel-face
The humid radiance beaming from her eyes
The air and seas illumes, the earth and skies;
And open, where she smiles, the sweets of Para-
dise.

On Zephyr's wing the laughing goddess view,
Distilling balm. She cleaves the buxom Air,
Attended by the silver-footed Dew,
The ravages of Winter to repair.
She gives her naked bosom to the Gales,
Her naked bosom down the ether sails;
Her bosom breathes delight; her breath the Spring
exhales.

All as the phenix, in Arabian skies,
New-burnish'd from his spicy funeral pyres,
At large, in roseal1 undulation, flies';
His plumage dazzles and the gazer tires;
Around their king the plumy nations wait,
Attend his triumph, and augment his state:
He tow'ring, claps his wings, and wins th' ethe-
real height.

So round this phenix of the gawdy year
A thousand, nay ten thousand Sports and Smiles,
Fluttering in gold, along the hemisphere,
Her praises chant; her praises glad the isles,
Conscious of her approach (to deck her bow'rs)
Earth from her fruitful lap and bosom pours
A waste of springing sweets, and voluntary flow'rs.
Narcissus fair, in snowy velvet gown'd;
Ah foolish! still to love the fountain-brim:
Sweet Hyacinth3, by Phoebus erst1 bemoan'd;
And tulip, flaring in her powder'd trim.
Whate'er, Armida 5, in thy gardens blew
Whate'er the Sun inhales, or sips the dew;
Whate'er compose the chaplet on Ianthe's brow.

1 Pliny tells us, lib. 11, that the phenix is about the bigness of an eagle: the feathers round the neck shining like gold, the body of a purple colour, the tail blue with feathers resembling roses. See Claudian's fine poem on that subject, and Marcellus Donatus, who has a short disser. tation on the phenix in his Observations on Tacitus. Annal. Lib. 6. Westley on Job, and sir Tho. Brown's Vulgar Errours.

2 A beautiful youth who, beholding his face in a fountain, fell in love with himself, and pining away was changed into a flower, which bears his name. See Ovid, Metamorph, Lib. 3.

3 Beloved and turned into a flower by Apollo. See the story in Ovid. Met. Lib. 10. There is likewise a curious dialogue in Lucian betwixt Mercury and Apollo on this subject. Servius in his Notes on Virgil's second Bucolic takes the hyacinth to be the vaccinium of the Latins, bearing some similitude with the name, 4 Formerly: long ago,

5 See Tasso's II Goffredo. Canto 16.

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From the wide altar of the foodful Earth [roll;
The flow'rs, the herbs, the plants, their incense
The orchards swell the ruby-tinctur'd birth;
The vermil-gardens breath the spicy soul.
Grateful to May, the nectar-spirit flies,
The wafted clouds of lavish'd odours rise,
The Zephyr's balmy burthen, worthy of the skies.

The bee, the golden daughter of the Spring,
From mead to mead, in wanton labour, roves,
And loads its little thigh, or gilds its wing
With all the essence of the flushing groves:
Extracts the aromatic soul of flow'rs,

And, humming in delight, its waxen bow'rs
Fills with the luscious spoils, and lives ambrosial-
hours.'

Touch'd by thee, May, the flocks and lusty droves
That low in pastures, or on mountains bleat,
Revive their frolics and renew their loves.
Stung to the marrow with a generous heat,
The stately courser, bounding o'er the plain,
Shakes to the winds the honours of his mane,
(High-arch'd his neck) and, snuffing, hopes the
dappled train.

The aëreal songsters sooth the list'ning groves:
The mellow thrush, the ouzle sweetly shrill,
And little linnet celebrate their loves
In hawthorn valley, or on tufted hill;
The soaring lark, the lowly nightingale,
A thorn her pillow, trills her doleful tale,
And melancholy music dies along the daie.

This gay exuberance of gorgeous Spring,
The gilded mountain, and the herbag'd vale,
The woods that blossom, and the birds that sing,
The murmuring fountain and the breathing dale:
The dale, the fountains, birds and woods delight,
The vales, the mountains and the Spring invite,
Yet unadorn'd by May, no longer charm the sight.

When Nature laughs around, shall man alone,
Thy image, hang (ah me!) the sickly head?
When Nature sings, shall Nature's glory groan,
And languish for the pittance poor of bread!
O may the man that shall his image scorn,
Alive, be ground with hunger, most forlorn,
Die unanell'd3, and dead, by dogs and kites be torn.

Curs'd may he be (as if he were not so.)
Nay doubly curs'd be such a breast of steel,
Which never melted at another's woe,
Nor tenderness of bowels knew to feel,
His heart is black as Hell, in flowing store
Who hears the needy crying at his door,
Who hears them cry, ne recks; but suffers
them be poor.

But blest, O more than doubly blest be he!
Let honour crown him and eternal rest,
Whose bosom, the sweet fount of charity,
Flows out to noursle 5 innocence distrest.
His ear is open to the widow's cries,
His hand the orphan's cheek of sorrow drys;
Like Mercy's self he looks on want with Pity's

eyes.

2 Blackbird. 3 Without a funeral knell. 4 Nor is concerned. 5 To nurse.

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