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When Athens sinks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her dust ;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore ;
See Arts her savage fons control,
And Athens rising near the pole !
Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.
Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball ! .
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate’er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,
In every age, in every state!
Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
H Tyrant Love! hast thou posseft
The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast ?
Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, soft intruder, enters here,
But entering learns to be sincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, dolt thou blame defire,
Which Nature has imprest?
Why, Nature, dost thou sooneft fire
The mild and generous breast?
flames the Gods approve ; 'The Gods and Brutus bend to Love :
Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wandering, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;
And burn for ever one ;
Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.
Oh source of every
tye, United with, and mutual joy!
What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he fpies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise ;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny;
What tender passions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move !
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With reverence, hope, and love.
Hence guilty joys, dittates, furmizes,
Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes ;
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine :
Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure;
Days of cafe, and nights of pleasure ;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.
APPY the man, whose with and care Н
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years side foft away, In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day. Sound Neep by night ; study and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation ; And innocence, which most does please
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I'lie.
ITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame :
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !
Ceare, fond ture, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper ; Angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my fenfes, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death ?
The world recedes; it disappears !
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory ?
O Death! where is thy Sting?
Written in the Year MDCCIX*.
“ Si quid novisti re&tius iftis, “ Candidus imperti; fi non, his utere mecum."
* Mr. Pope told me himself, that the “ Essay on « Criticism" was indeed written in 1707, though said 1709 by mistake.