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When Athens links by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians spurn her duft ;
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 llaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,
In every age, in every state !
Still, when the luft of tyrant power succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
OTyrant Love! haft thou pofleft
The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast ?
Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but soften 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, dost thou blame desire,
Which Nature has imprest?
Why, Nature, dost thou soonest fire
The mild and
CHORUS. Love's purer
The Gods and Brutus bend to Love :
Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And sterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loose love? a transient guft,
Spent in a sudden storm of luft,
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
tye, United with, and mutual joy!
What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he spies,
While thoufand 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, diftaftes, 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 ease, and nights of pleasure ;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.
HAPPY the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own.ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5
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 fide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night ; study and ease,
Together mix'd ; sweet recreation ;
And innocence, which most does please
15 With meditation.
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 !
Cease, fond Nature, 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 senses, fhuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my Soul, cap this be Death ?
The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears
With founds feraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I fly!
O Grave ! where is thy Victory?
o Death! where is thy Sting?
« Si quid novisti rectius iftis, “ Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.' fi
Mr. Pope told me himself, that the “ Esay on “ Criticism” was indeed written in 1707, though said