Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around
Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, andkeptwithpain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain:
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heaven decrees! With heaven who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there.
There hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases,
And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.
There broken vowsand death-bed alms are found,
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribbands bound;
The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs,
The smiles of harlots, aud the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.
But trust the Muse-she saw it upward rise,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes:
So Rome's great founder to the heavens with-
To Proculus alone confest in view.

[drew,

Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire!
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes,
The glorious fault of angels and of gods!
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull, sullen pris'ners in the body's cage;
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Useless, unseen, as tamps in sepulchres;
Like eastern kings, a lazy state they keep,
And close confin'd in their own palace sleep.
From these perhaps (ere Nature bid her die)
Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer spirits flow,
And separate from their kindred dregs below,
So flew the soul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redecin her race.

But thou false guardian of a charge too good,
Thou mean deserter of thy brother's blood!
See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,
These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death;
Coldisthat breath which warm'd the world before,
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Justice rules the bail,
Thus shall your wives and thus your children fall;
On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates;
There passengers shall stand; and pointing say
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way),

A sudden star, it shot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright,
The heaven's bespangling with dishevell'd light,
The Sylphs beheld it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' the skies.
This the Beau-monde shall from the Mall sur-Lo! these were they whose souls the Furies steel'd,
And hail with music its propitious ray; [vey,
This the blest Lover shall for Venus take,
And send up yows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ra-
vish'd hair,

Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust;
This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield,
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good or melt at others' woe.

What can atone, oh ever-injur'd shade!
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear,
Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournfulbier:
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By strangers honor'd, and by strangers mourn'd!
What tho' no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show;
What tho' no weeping loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face;
What tho' no sacred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb;
Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be dress'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast.
There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
While angels with their silver wings o'ershade
The ground, now sacred by thy reliques made.

So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth and faine,
How lov'd, how honor'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot :
A heap of dust alone remains of thee;
Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

Poets

Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung,
Deaf the prais'd car and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart;
Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er,
The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

§ 12. Prologue to Mr.Addison's Tragedy of Cato.
Pope.

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and he what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream thro' ev'ry age;
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our Author shuns by vulgar springs to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying love we bat our weakness show,
And wild ambition well deserves its woe.

Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause,
Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws :
He bids your breasts with antient ardor rise,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confest in human shape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was :
No common object to your sight displays,

The play may pass--but that strange creature
Shore,

I can't—indeed now I so hate a whore —
Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his stars he was not born a fool,
So from a sister sinner you shall hear,

How strangely you expose yourself, my dear!"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our sex are still forgiving at their heart;
And did not wicked custom so contrive,
We'd be the beşt good-natur'd things alive.
There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rage without betrays the fire within;
In some close corner of the soul they sin;
Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice,
Amidst their virtue's a reserve of vice.
The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid,or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy soft nights and solid dinners,
Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with

Well, if our author in the wife offends, [sinners.
He has a husband that will make amends:
And sure such kind good creatures may be living,
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving;
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows;
Plu-Plutarch-what's his name that writes his
Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse:
Tells us that Cato dearly lov'd his wife: [life?
Yet if a friend a night or so should need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder..

But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys-To lend a wife, few here would scruple make;

A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his country's cause?
Who sees him act, but envies ev'ry deed?
Who hears him groan,and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæsar, 'midst triumphal cars,
The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state;
As her dead father's rev'rend image pass'd,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gush'd from ev'ry eye;
The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by;
Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honor'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd,
And show, you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Somelearningarts from Greece whom she subdu'd;
Our scene precariously subsists too long
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage;
Be justly warn'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone should win a British ear,
As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear.

§ 13. Epilogue to Mr.Rowe'sJane Shore. Pope.
PRODIGIOUS this! the frail one of our play
From her own sex should mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head aside,
Peep'd in your fans, been serious thus, and cried

But, pray, which of you all would take her back?
Tho' with the Stoic chief our stage may ring,
The Stoic husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
Those strange examples ne'er were made to fiye,
But the kind cuckold might instruct the city,
There many an honest man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er saw naked sword, or look'd in Plato.

If, after all, you think it a disgrace
That Edward's Miss thus perks it in your face;
In all the rest so impudently good;
To see a piece of failing flesh and blood
Faith, let the modest matrons of the town
Come here in crowds;andstarethe strumpetdown.

§ 14. The Temple of Fame. Pope.
IN that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising
flow'rs;

When op'ning buds salute the welcome day,
As balmy sleep had charm'd my cares to rest,
And earth relenting feels the genial ray;
And love itself was banish'd from my breast,
(What time the morn mysterious visions brings,
While purer slumbers spread their golden wings,)
A train of phantons in wild order rose;
And, join'd,this intellectual scene compose;

I stood, methought, betwixt earth, seas, and
The whole creation open to my eyes;
[skies;
In air self balanc'd hung the globe below,
Where mountains rise, and circling oceans flow;

Here

Here naked rocks and empty wastes were scen,
There tow'ry cities, and the forests green;
Here sailing ships delight the wand ring eyes,
There trees and intermingled temples rise:
Now a clear sun the shining scene displays,
The transient landscape now in clouds decays.
O'er the wide prospect as I gaz'd around,
Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound,
Like broken thunders that at distance roar,
Or billows murm'ring on the hollow shore:
Then, gazing up, a glorious pile beheld,
Whose tow ring summit ambient clouds
High on a rock of ice the structure lay, [ceal'd.
Steep its ascent, and slipp'ry was the

In shaggy spoils here Theseus was beheld,
And Perseus dreadful with Minerva's shield:
There great Alcides, stooping with his toil,
Rets on his club, and holds th' Hesperian spoil:
Here Orpheus sings; trees moving to the sound,
Start from their roots, and form a shade around
Amphion there the loud creating lyre
Strikes, and beholds a sudden Thebes aspire!
Cytheron's echoes answer to his call,

And half the mountain rolls into a wall:
There might you see the length'ning spires ascend,
con-The domes swell up, the widening arches bend,"
The growing tow'rs like exhalations rise,
And the huge columns heave into the skies.'

way;
The wond'rous rock like Parian marble shoue,
And seem'd to distant sight of solid stone.
Inscriptions here of various names 1 view'd,
The greater part by hostile time subdued;
Yet wide were spread their fame in ages past,
And poets once had promis'd they should last.
Some, fresh engray'd, appear'd of wits renown'd;
I look'd again, nor conld their trace be found.
Critics I saw, that other names deface,
And fix their own with labor in their places
Their own, like others, soon their place resign'd,
Or disappear'd, and left the first behind.
Nor was the work impair'd by storms alone,
But felt th' approaches of too warm a sun;
For fame, impatient of extremes, decays
Not more by envy, than excess of praise.
Yet part no injuries of heaven could feel,
Like crystal, faithful to the graving steel:
The rock's high summit, in the temple's shade,
Nor heat could melt, nor beating storm invade.
There names inscrib'd unnumber'd ages past,
From time's first birth, with time itself shall last;
These ever new, nor subject to decays, [days.
Spread, and grow brighter, with the length of
So Zembla's rocks(the beauteous work of frost)
Rise white in air, and glitter o'er the coast;
Pale suns, unfelt, at distance roll away,
And on th' impassive ice the lightnings play;
Eternal snows the growing mass supply,
Till the bright mountains prop th' incumbentsky.
As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears
The gather'd winter of a thousand years.
On this foundation Fame's high temple stands;
Stupendous pile! not rear'd by mortal hands.
Whate'er proud Rome or artful Greece beheld,
Or elder Babylon, its frame excell'd.
Four faces had the dome, and ev'ry face
Of various structure, but of equal grace:
Four brazen gates, on columns lifted high,
Salute th' diff'rent quarters of the sky.
Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born,
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,
Who cities rais'd, or tam'd a monstrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,
And legislators seem to think in stone.
Westward a sumptuous frontispiece appear'd,
On Doric pillars of white marble rear'd,
Crown'd with an architrave of antient mold,
And sculpture rising on the roughen'd gold.

The Eastern front was glorious to behold,
With diamond flaming, and Barbaric gold.
There Ninus shone, who spread th'Assyrian fame,
And the great founder of the Persian name:
There, in long robes, the royal Magi stand;
Grave Zoroaster waves the circling wand:
The sage Chaldæaus rob'd in white appear'd,
And Brachmans, deep in desart woods rever'd.
These stopp'd the moon, and call'd th' unbodied
shades,

To midnight banquets in the glimm'ring glades;
Made visionary fabrics round them rise,
And airy spectres skim before their eyes;
Of Talismans and Sigils knew the pow'r,'
And careful watch'd the planetary hour.
Superior, and alone, Confucius stood,
Who taught that useful science, to be good.

But, on the South, a long majestic race
Of Egypt's priests the gilded niches grace,
Who measur'd earth, describ'd the starry spheres,
And trac'd the long records of lunar years.
High on his car Sesostris struck my view,
Whom sceptred slaves in golden harness drew
His hands a bow and pointed javelin hold,
His giant limbs are arm'd in scales of gold.
Between the statues obelisks were plac'd,
And the learn'd walls with hieroglyhics grac'd.

Of Gothic structure was the northern side,"
O'erwrought with ornaments of barb'rous pride;
There huge colossus rose, with trophies crown'd;
And Runic characters were grav'd around.
There sat Zamolxis with erected eyes;
And Odin here in mimic trances dies.
There on rude iron columns, smear'd with blood,
The horrid forms of Scythian heroes stood,
Druids and bards (theironce loud harps unstrung),
And youths that died to be by poets sung.
These, and a thousand more of doubtful fame,
To whom old fables give a lasting name,
In ranks adorn'd the Temple's outward face ·
The wall, in lustre and effect like glass,
Which o'er each object casting various dyes,
Enlarges some, and others multiplics:
Nor void of einblein was the mystic wall;
For thus romantic Fame increases all.

The Temple shakes, the sounding gates un

fold,

Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold;
Rais'd on a thousand pillars, wreath'd around
With laurel foliage, and with eagles crown'd

Of

Of bright transparent beryl were the walls,
The friezes gold, and gold the capitals •
As heaven with stars, the roofs with jewe's glows,
And ever-living lamps depend in rows.
Full in the passage of each spacious gate,
The sage Historians in white garments wait;
Grav'd o'er their seats the form of Time was
foound,

His scythe revers'd, and both his pinions bound.
Within stood Heroes, who thro' loud alarmis
In bloody fields pursu'd renown in arms.
High on a throne, with trophies charg'd, I view'd
The Youth that all things but himself subdu'd;
His feet on sceptres and tiaras trod,
And his horn'd head belied the Lybian god.
There Cæsar, grac'd with both Minervas, shone;
Cæsar, the world's great master, and his own;
Unmov'd, superior still, in ev'ry state,
And scarce detested in his country's fate,
But chief were those who not for empire fought,
But with their toils their people's safety bought.
High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood;
Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood;
Bold Scipio, saviour of the Roman state,
Great in his triumphs, in retirement great;
And wise Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind
With boundless pow'r unbounded virtue join'd,
His own strict judge, and patron of mankind.
Much suff'ring heroes next their honors claim,
Those of less noisy and less guilty fame,
Fair Virtue's silent train: supreme of these
Here ever shines the godlike Socrates;
He whom ungrateful Athens could expel,
At all times just but when he sign'd the shell;
Here his abode the martyr'd Phocion claims,
With Agis, not the last of Spartan names;
Unconquer'd Cato shows the wound he tore ;
And Brutus his ill genius meets no more.

But in the centre of the hallow'd choir,
Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire;
Around the shrine itself of Fame they stand,
Hold the chief honors, and the fane command.
High on the first the mighty Homer shone,
Eternal adamant compos'd his throne;
Father of verse! in holy fillets drest,
His silver beard wav'd gently o'er his breast;
Tho' blind, a boldness in his looks appears;
In years he seem'd, but not impair'd by years.
The wars of Troy were round the pillar seen:
Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian queen;
Here Hector glorious from Patroclus' fall,
Here dragg'd in triumph round the Trojan wall:
Motion and life did ev'ry part inspire,
Bold was the work, and prov'd the master's fire;
A strong expression most he seem'd t' affect,
And here and there disclos'd a brave neglect.

A golden column next in rank appear'd,
On which a shrine of purest gold was rear'd;
Finish'd the whole, and labor'd ev'ry part,
With patient touches of unwearied art:
The Mantuan there in sober triumph sate,
Compos'd his posture, and his look`sedate;
On Homer still he fix'd a rev'rent eye,
Great without pride, in modest majesty.

In living sculpture on the sides were spread
The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead;
Eliza stretch'd upon the fun'ral pyre;
AEneas bending with his aged sire:
Troy flam'd in burning gold; and o'er the throne
Arms and the Man in golden cyphers shone.

Four swans sustain a car of silver bright, [flight:
With heads advane'd, and pinions stretch'd for
Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode,
And seem'd to labor with th' inspiring god.
Across the harp a careless hand he flings,
And boldly sinks into the sounding strings.
The figur'd games of Greece the column grace;
Neptune and Jove survey the rapid race.
The youths hung o'er their chariots as they run,
The fiery steeds seem starting from the stone:
The champions, in distorted posture, threat:
And all appear'd irregularly great.

Here happy Horace tun'd th' Ausonian lyre
To sweeter sounds, and temper'd Pindar's fire :
Pleas'd with Alcaus' manly rage t'infuse
The softer spirit of the Sapphic Muse.
The polish'd pillar diff'rent sculptures grace ;
A work outlasting monumental brass.
Here siniling Loves and Bacchanals appear;
The Julian star, and great Augustus here.
The Doves that round the infant poet spread
Myrtles and bays, hang hov'ring o'er his head.

Here, in a shrine that cast a dazzling light,
Sat fix'd in thought the mighty Stagyrite;
His sacred head a radiant zodiac crown'd,
And various animals his sides surround;
His piercing eyes, crect, appear in view
Superior worlds, and look all nature through.

With equal rays immortal Tully shone;
The Roman rostra desk'd the consul's throne:
Gath'ring his flowing robe, he seem'd to stand
In act to speak, and graceful stretch'd his hand.
Behind, Rome's genius waits with civic crowns,
And the great Father of his country owns.

These massy columns in a circle rise,
O'er which a pompous donne invades the skies:
Scarce to the top I stretch'd my aching sight,
So large it spread, and swell'd to such a height.
Full in the midst proud Fame's imperial seat
With jewels blaz'd, magnificently great :
The vivid em'ralds there revive the
eye,
The flaming rubies show their sanguine dye,
Bright azure rays from lively sapphires stream,
And lucid amber casts a golden gleam.
With various-color'd light the pavement shone,
And all on fire appear'd the glowing throne;
The dome's high arch reflects the mingled blaze,
And forms a rainbow of alternate rays.
When on the Goddess first I cast my sight,
Scarce seem'd her statue of a cubit's height;
But swell'd to larger size, the more I gaz'd,
Till to the roof her tow'ring head she rais'd.
With her, the temple ev'ry moment grew ;
And ampler vistas open'd to my view:
Upward the columns shoot, the roofs ascend,
And arches widen, and long aisles extend.
Such was her form, as antient bards have told,
Wings raise her arms, and wings her feet enfold;
A thousand