NIGHT. the THIRD.

NARCISSA.

ROM Dreams, where thought in fancy's maze runs
To Reason, that heav'n-lighted lamp in man, [mad,

Once more I wake; and at the destin'd hour,

Punctual as lovers to the moment fworn,

I keep my affignation with my woe.

O! Loft to virtue, Loft to manly thought,
Loft to the noble fallies of the foul!

Who think it folitude, to be Alone.
Communion fweet! communion large and high!
Our Reafon, Guardian Angel, and our God!
Then nearest Thefe, when Others moft remote ;
And All, ere long, fhall be remote, but These.
How dreadful, Then, to meet them all alone,

A ftranger! unacknowleg'd! unapprov❜d!

Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy breast ; To win thy wish, creation has no more.

Or if we wish a fourth, it is a Friend

But friends, how mortal! dang'rous the defire.
Take PHEOBUS to yourselves, ye basking bards!
Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head;

And reeling thro' the wilderness of joy ;

Where Senfe runs favage, broke from Reafon's chain,
And fings falfe peace, till fmother'd by the pall.
My fortune is unlike; unlike my fong;
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 didst lately borrow CYNTHIA's form,
And modeftly forego thy Own! O Thou,
Who didft thyself, at midnight hours, infpire!
Say, why not CYNTHIA patronefs of fong?
As Thou her crefcent, she thy character
Affumes; ftill more a goddefs 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, addrefs your ardent call
For aid immortal; lefs her brother's right.

She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads
The mazy dance, and hears their matchless strain,
A ftrain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear.

* At the duke of Norfolk's masquerade.

Tranfmit

Tranfmit it heard, thou filver queen of heav'n!
What title, or what name, endears thee most?
CYNTHIA! CYLLENE! PHOEBE !or doft hear
With higher guft, fair PD of the skies!
Is that the foft inchantment calls thee down,
More pow'rful than of old Circean charm?
Come; but from heav'nly banquets with thee bring
The foul of fong, and whisper in my ear
The theft divine; or in propitious dreams
(For dreams are Thine) transfufe it thro' the breast
Of thy first votary-But not thy last ;
If, like thy Namesake, 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 rofe all pale, and told my foul,
'Twas Night; on her fond hopes perpetual night;
A night which ftruck a damp, a deadlier damp,
Than that which fmote me from PHILANDER's tomb.
NARCISSA 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 caufes, he confounds;
For human fighs his rival ftrokes contend,
And make diftrefs, diftraction. Oh PHILANDER!
What was thy fate? A double fate to me;

VOL. III.

D

Portent,