And fings false peace, till fmother'd by the pall.
My fortune is unlike; unlike my fông;
Unlike the deity my fong invokes.
I to day's foft-ey'd fifter pay my court,
(Endymion's rival!) and her aid implore;
Now firft implor'd in fuccour to the mufe.
Thou, who didft lately borrow * Cynthia's form,
And modeftly forego thine own! O thou,
Who didft thy felf, at midnight hours, infpire!
Say, why not Cynthia, patronefs of fong?
As thou her crefcent, fhe thy character
Affumes; ftill more a goddess by the change.
Are there demurring wits, who dare difpute
This revolution in the world infpir'd?
Ye train Pierian! to the lunar fphere,
In filent hour, address your ardent call
For aid immortal; lefs her brother's right.
She, with the fpheres harmonious, nightly leads
The mazy dance, and hears their matchlefs ftrain,
A ftrain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear.
Tranfmit it heard, thou filver queen of heaven!
What title, or what name, endears thee moft?
Cynthia! Cyllene! Phoebe!-or doft hear
With higher guft, fair P-d of the fkies?
Is that the foft enchantment calls thee down,
More pow'rful than of old Circean charm?
Come; but from heavenly banquets with thee bring
The foul of fong, and whisper in mine ear
* At the duke of Norfolk's masquerade.
The theft divine; or in propitious dreams
(For dreams are thine) transfuse it thro' the breaft Of thy first votary-but not thy laft;
If, like thy name-fake, thou art ever kind.
And kind thou wilt be; kind on fuch a theme; A theme fo like thee, a quite lunar theme, Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair! A theme that rose all-pale, and told my foul, 'Twas night; on her fond hopes perpetual night; A night which struck a damp, a deadlier damp, Than that which fmote me from Philander's tomb. Narciffa follows, ere his tomb is clos'd.
Woes cluster; rare are folitary woes;
They love a train, they tread each other's heel;
Her death invades his mournful right, and claims
The grief that started from my lids for him:
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated tear,
Or fhares it, ere it falls. So frequent death,
Sorrow, he more than causes, he confounds;
For human fighs his rival ftrokes contend,
And make diftrefs, diftraction. Oh Philander!
What was thy fate? a double fate to me;
Portent, and pain! a menace, and a blow!
Like the black raven hov'ring o'er my peace,
Not lefs a bird of omen, than of prey.
It call'd Narciffa long before her hour;
It call'd her tender foul, by break of bliss,
From the first bloffom, from the buds of joy;
Those few our noxious fate unblafted leaves
In this inclement clime of human life.
Sweet harmonist! and beautiful as sweet!
And young as beautiful! and foft as young!
And gay as foft! and innocent as gay!
And happy (if aught happy here) as good!
For fortune fond had built her neft on high.
Like birds quite exquifite of note and plume,
Transfixt by fate (who loves a lofty mark)
How from the fummit of the grove she fell,
And left it unharmonious! all its charm
Extinguish'd in the wonders of her fong!
Her fong still vibrates in my ravish'd ear,
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain
(O to forget her!) thrilling thro' my heart!
Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy! this group
Of bright ideas, flow'rs of paradife,
As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and prefent it to the fkies; as all
We guefs of heaven: and thefe were all her own;
And she was mine; and I was-was!- most bleft,
Gay title of the deepest mifery!
As bodies grow more pond'rous, robb'd of life;
Good loft weighs more in grief, than gain'd, in joy.
Like bloffom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death ftill lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity fwells the tide of love.
And will not the fevere excufe a figh?
Scorn the proud man that is afham'd to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deferve our shame.
Ye that e'er loft an angel! pity me.
Soon as the luftre languish'd in her eye,
Dawning a dimmer day on human fight;
And on her cheek, the refidence of spring,
Pale omen fate; and scatter'd fears around
On all that faw (and who would cease to gaze,
That once had feen?) with hafte, parental haste,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid north,
Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the fun; the fun
(As if the fun could envy) check'd his beam,
Deny'd his wonted fuccour, nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies; faireft lilies not fo fair.
Queen lilies! and ye painted populace!
Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrofial lives;
In morn and ev❜ning dew, your beauties bathe,
And drink the fun; which gives your cheeks to glow,
And out-blush (mine excepted) ev'ry fair;
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand,
Which often crop'd your odours, incenfe meet
To thought fo pure; her flow'ry state of mind
In joy unfall'n. Ye lovely fugitives!
Coeval race with man! for man you fmile;
Why not fmile at him too? you fhare indeed
His fudden pafs; but not his constant pain.
So man is made, nought minifters delight,
But what his glowing paffions can engage;
And glowing paffions, bent on aught below,
Muft, foon or late, with anguish turn the scale;
And anguish, after rapture, how fevere!
Rapture! bold man! who tempts the wrath divine,
By plucking fruit deny'd to mortal tafte,
While here, prefuming on the rights of heaven.
For transport doft thou call on ev'ry hour,
Lorenzo? At thy friend's expence be wife;
Lean not on earth; 'twill pierce thee to the heart,
A broken reed, at beft; but, oft, a fpear;
On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopeless thought! turn from her:-thought
repell'd,
Refenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe.
Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour!
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, fmil'd!
And when high-flavour'd thy fresh-op'ning joys!
And when blind man pronounc'd thy blifs complete!
And on a foreign fhore; where ftrangers wept!
Strangers to thee; and, more furprising still,
Strangers to kindnefs, wept: their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; ftrange tears! that trickled down
From marble hearts! obdurate tenderness!
A tenderness that call'd them more fevere;
In fpite of nature's foft perfuafion, steel'd;
While nature melted, fuperftition rav'd;
That mourn'd the dead; and this deny'd a grave.
Their fighs incens'd; fighs foreign to the will!
Their will the tyger fuck'd, outrag'd the ftorm.
For, oh! the curft ungodlinefs of zeal!
While finful flefh relented, fpirit nurft
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The fainted fpirit petrify'd the breaft;
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