ON A LADY'S PICTURE:

TO GILFRED LAWSON, ESQ

BY THE SAME.

S Damon Chloe's painted form furvey'd,

A He

He figh'd, and languifh'd for the jilting shade:
For Cupid taught the artist hand its grace,
And Venus wanton'd in the mimic face.
Now he laments a look fo falfly fair,

And almost damns, what yet resembles her;
Now he devours it with his longing eyes;
Now fated, from the lovely phantom flies,
Yet burns to look again, yet looks again, and dies.
Her ivory neck his lips prefume to kiss,
And his bold hands the fwelling bofom prefs;
The swain drinks in deep draughts of vain defire,
Melts without heat, and burns in fancied fire.
Strange power
of paint! thou nice creator art!
What love inspires, may life itself impart.
Struck with like wounds, of old, Pygmalion pray'd,
And hugg'd to life his artificial maid;

Clasp, new Pygmalion, clasp the feeming charms,
Perhaps even now th' enlivening image warms,

Thy arms, which shall with fire fo fierce invade, That fhe at once fhall be, and cease to be a maid.

PART OF THE

FOURTH BOOK OF LUCAN.

BY THE SAME,

Cæfar, having refolved to give battle to Petrefus and Afranius, Pompey's lieutenants in Spain, encamped near the enemy in the fame field. The behaviour of their foldiers, at their seeing and knowing one another, is the fubject of the following verfes.

Heir antient friends, as now they nearer drew, for

Prepar'd for fight the wondering foldiers knew: Brother, with brother in unnat❜ral ftrife,

And the fon arm'd against the father's life:
Carft civil war.! then confcience first was felt,
And the tough veteran's heart began to melt.
Fix'd in dumb forrow all at once they stand,
Then wave, a pledge of peace, the guiltless hand;
For vent ten thousand struggling paffions move,
The ftings of nature, and the pangs of love.
All order broken, wide their arms they throw,
And run, with transport, to the longing foe.:
Here their long-loft acquaintance neighbours claim,
There an old friend recalls his comrade's name,

Youths

Youths, who in arts beneath one tutor grew,
Rome rent in twain, and kindred hosts they view.
Tears wet their impious arms, a fond relief,
And kiffes, broke by fobs, the words of grief;
Tho' yet no blood was fpilt, each anxious mind
With horror thinks on what his rage defign'd.
Ah! generous youths, why thus, with fruitless pain,
Beat ye those breafts? why gufh thofe eyes in vain ?
Why blame ye heaven, and charge your guilt on fate?
Why dread the tyrant, whom yourselves make great ?.
Bids he the trumpet found? the trumpet flight-
Bids he the standard move? refufe the fight-
Your generals, left by you, will love again,
A fon and father, when they're private men..
Kind concord, heavenly-born! whofe blissful.reign
Holds this vaft globe in one furrounding chain,
Whofe laws the jarring elements controul,.
And knit each atom clofe from pole to pole ;
Soul of the world! and love's eternal spring!
This lucky hour, thy aid, fair goddess, bring!
This lucky hour, ere aggravated crimes.
Heap guilt on guilt, and doubly ftain the times.
No veil henceforth for fin, for pardon none;
They know their duty, now their friends are known..
Vain with! from blood short must the respite be;
New crimes, by love inhanc'd, this night shall fee:
Such is the will of fate, and fuch the hard decree.

'Twas peace. From either camp, now void of fear, The foldiers mingling cheerful feasts prepare:

On the green fod the friendly bowls were crown'd,
And hafty banquets pil'd upon the ground:
Around the fire they talk; one shows his fcars,
One tells what chance first led him to the wars ;
Their ftories o'er the tedious night prevail,
And the mute circle liftens to the tale.

They own they fought, but swear they ne'er could hate,
Deny their guilt, and lay the blame on fate;
Their love revives, to make them guiltier grow,
A fhort-liv'd bleffing, but to heighten woe.
When to Petreius first the news was told,
The jealous general thought his legions fold.
Swift, with the guards, his head-strong fury drew,
From out his camp he drives the hoftile crew;
Cuts clasping friends asunder with his fword,
And ftains with blood each hofpitable board.

Then thus his wrath breaks out. "Oh! loft to fame!
"Oh! falfe to Pompey, and the Roman name!
"Can ye not conquer, ye degenerate bands?
"Oh! die at least; 'tis all that Rome demands.
"What? will ye own, while ye can wield the fword,
"A rebel standard, and ufurping lord?
"Shall he be fued to take you into place
"Amongst his flaves, and grant you equal grace?
"What? fhall my life be begg'd? inglorious thought!
"And life abhorr'd, on fuch conditions bought!

"The

"The toils we bear, my friends, are not for life, "Too mean a prize in fuch a dreadful ftrife; "But peace would lead to fervitude and shame, "A fair amufement, and a fpecious name.. "Never had man explor'd the iron ore,

"Mark'd out the trench, or rais'd the lofty tower, "Ne'er had the steed in harness fought the plain, "Or fleets encounter'd on th' unstable main; "Were life, were breath, with fame to be compar'd, "Or peace to glorious liberty preferr❜d.

"By guilty oaths the hoftile army bound, "Holds faft its impious faith, and ftands its ground; Are you perfidious, who efpoufe the laws, "And traytors only in a righteous cause? "Oh fhame! in vain thro' nations far and wide,

Thou call'ft the crowding monarchs to thy fide, "Fallen Pompey! while thy legions here betray

66

Thy cheap bought life, and treat thy fame away.' He ended fierce. The foldier's rage returns, His blood flies upward, and his bofom burns. So, hap'ly tam'd, the tyger bears his bands, Lefs grimly growls, and licks his keeper's hands; But if by chance he taftes forbidden gore, He yells amain, and makes his dungeon roar: He glares, he foams, he aims a defperate bound, And his pale master flies the dangerous ground. Now deeds are done, which man might charge aright On stubborn fate, or undifcerning night, E 4

Had