« PreviousContinue »
Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blu'd ;
Young, fresh, and blooming like the morn. An eye,
As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud
Of purest white. A secret charm combin'd
Her features, and infus’d inchantment through them.-
Her fhape was harmony. But eloquence
Beneath her beauty fails ; which seem'd on purpose
By nature lavith'd on her, that mankind
Might see the virtue of a hero tried
Almost beyond the stretch of human force.
Soft as she pass'd along, with downcast eyes,
Where gentle sorrow Iwell’d, and, now and then,
Dropp'o'er her modest cheeks a trickling tear,
The Roman legions languilli'd, and hard war
Felt more than pity : even their chief himself,
As on his high tribunal rais'd he sat,
Torn'd from the dangerous fight; and, chiding, ask'd
His officers, if by this gift they meant
To cloud his glory in its very dawn.
She, question'd of her birth, in trembling accents,
With tears and blushes, broken, told her tale.
But, when he found her royally descended
Of her old captive parents the role joy ;
And that a hapless Celtiberian prince,
Her lover and belov'd, forgot his chains,
His loft dominions, and for her alone
Wept out his tender soul; fudder the heart
Of this young, conquering, loving, godlike Roman,
Felt all the great divinity of virtue.
His wishing youth ftood check'd, his tempting power,
Restraind by kind humanity.--At once
He for her parents and her lover call’d.
The various scene imagine. How his troops
Look'd dubious on, and wonder'd what he meant;:
While, stretch'd below, the trembling suppliants lay;?
Rack'd by a thousand mingling paffions-fear,
Hope, jealousy, disdain; fubmiflion, grief,
Anxiety, and love in every shape.
To these as different sentiments succeeded,,
As mix'd emotions, when the man divine
Thus the dread silence to the lover broke. -
We both are young; both charm’d. The right of war'
213 Has put thy beauteous mistress in my power ; With whom I could, in the mott sacred ties, Live out a happy life. But, know, that Romans, Their hearts, as well as enemies can conquer. Then, take her to thy soul : and, with her, take Thy liberty and kingdom. In return, I alk but this when you behold these eyes, These charms with transport, be a friend to Rome,". Ecstatic wonder held the lovers mute ; While the loud camp, and all the clust'ring crowd That hung around, rang with repeated houts. Fame took the alarm, and through resounding Spain Blew fast the fair report; which, more than arms, Admiring nations to the Romans gain'd. Xil. Pope's humorous Complaint to Dr Arbuthnot of the
Impertinence of Scribblers. SHUT, shut the door, good john !-faiigu’d, I said: Tie
пр the knocker; lay, I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog star rages ! nay, 'tis paft a doubt,
All bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, ali madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what fhades cán hide ?
They pierce iny thickets; through my grøt they glide :
By land, by water, they renew the charge ;
They stop the chariot; and they board the barge.
No place is facred; not the chisch is free ;
Even Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me:
Then, from the inint walks forth the man of rhyme
" Happy to catch me--juit at dinner-time.”
Friend to my life! (which did not you prolunga
The world had wanted many an idle fong)
What drop or noftrum can this plague remove ?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire cilinna Seither way I'm sped:
If foes, they write ; if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz’d and tied down to judge, bow wretched I !
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.
To lauglı were want of goodness and of grace ;
And to be grave exceeds all pow's of face.
I fit with fad civility; I read
With serious anguish and an aching head :
Then drop at lait, but in unwilling ears,
This saving coulel" Keep your piece nine years."-
“ Nine years !" (cries he, who, bigb in Drury-Lane,
Lulld by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,
Oblig'd by honger-and request of friends);
* The piece, you think, is incorrect. Why, take it:
all fubmission ; what you'd have it, make it.”
Three things another's modeft wishes bound-
My friendship, and a prologue, and ren pound.
Pitholeon tends to meas You know his Grace :
I want a patrou-ask him for a place.”
“ Pitholeon libelld me"" But here's a letter
Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better.''
Bless me! a packet !" 'Tis a stranger fues ;
A virgin-tragedy, an orphan musę."
I diOike itFuries, death, and rage !" If I approve" Commend it to the stage." 'There, thank my stars ! my whole con mission ends : The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the house rejedt hii-" 'Sdeath! I'H print it
, And fame the fools-Your int'relt, Sir, with Lintot." ** Lintot (dull rogue !) will think your price too much."" Not if you, Str, revise it and retouch." All my demurs but double his attacks : At last he whispers—“ Do, and we go fnacks." Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door.. " Sir, let me see you and your works no more."
There are wlio to my person pay their court :
I cough like Horace ; and, though lean, am short :
son one shoulder had too high ;
Such Ovid's nose ; and" Sir, you have an eye.”.
Go on, obliging creatures; make me fee
All that disgrac'd my betters met in me.
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just fo immortal Maro held his head;
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died-three thousand years ago.
XIII. Hymn to Adversity.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best !
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, bis darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade thee form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore :
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' woe,
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, ily
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy;
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they difperse, and with them go
The summer Friend, the flatt'ring Foe,
By vain Prosperity receiv'd;
To her bey vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapturous thought profound,
And Melancholy, silent maid,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn steps attend:
Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend ;
With Justice, to herleli fevere;
And Pity, dropping soft the fadly-pleasing tear.
Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread goddess, lay thy chatt'ning hand !
Not in thy Gorgon terrours clad,
Nor circled with the ve!gef band
(As by the impious thou art leen)
With thuadring voice, and that'ning mien,
With screaming Horrour's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghaftly Poverty.
Thy form benigo, oh Goddess, wear;
Thy milder influence impart ;
Tly philofophic train be there,
To fuften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous fpark, extinct, revive ;
Teach me to love and to forgive ;
Exact my own defects to scan;
What others are, to feel ; and know myself a max.
XIV. The Paffions. An Ode.
WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece fhe fung,
The Passions oft, to hear her thell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Pofless', beyond the Mole's painting
Hy turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis faid, when all were fir’d,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, infpir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruld the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power?
First, Fear, his hand, its kill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ;
And back recoild, he knew not why,
Even at the found himlelf had made. Next, Anger rulh’d, his eyes on fire:
In lightnings own'd his secret Aings. In one rude clash he struck the lyre
And swept, with hurty'd hands, the strings. With woful measures, wan Despair
Low fullen sounds his grief beguild: A folemn, ftrange, and minglid air : *Twas fad, by hits-by starts, 'twas wild.