PAINTER, if thou canst safely gaze
On all the wonders of that face;
If thou hast charms to guard a heart
Secure by secrets of thy art;
O! teach the mighty charm, that we
May gaze securely too, like thee.
Canst thou love's brightest lightning draw,
Which none e'er yet, unwounded, saw?
To what then wilt thou next aspire.
Unless to imitate Jove's fire!
Which is a less advent'rous pride,
Though 'twas for that Salmoneus died.
That beauteous, that victorious fair,
Whose chains so many lovers wear;
Who with a look can arts infuse,
Create a painter, or a muse;
Whom crowds with awful rapture view;
She sits serene, and smiles on you!
Your genius, thus inspir'd, will soar
To wondrous heights unknown before;
And to her beauty you will own
Your future skill and fix'd renown.
So when of old great Ammon's son,
Adorn'd with spoils in battle won,
In graceful picture chose to stand,
The work of fam'd Apelles' hand;
Exert thy fire, (the monarch said)
Now be thy boldest strokes display'd,
To let admiring nations see
Their dreaded victor drawn by thee;
To others thou may'st life impart,
But I'll immortalize thy art!'
In every age, to brighter honours born,
Which loveliest nymphs and sweetest bards adorn,
Beauty and wit each other's aid require,
And poets sing what first the fair inspire:
The fair for ever thus their charms prolong,
And live rewarded in the tuneful song.
Thus Sacharissa shines in Waller's lays,
And she, who rais'd his genius, shares his praise :
Each does in each a mutual life infuse,
The' inspiring beauty, the recording muse.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1704.
DELIGHTFUL mansion! bless'd retreat;
Where all is silent, all is sweet!
Here Contemplation prunes her wings,
The raptur'd muse more tuneful sings,
While May leads on the cheerful hours,
And opens a new world of flow'rs.
Gay pleasure here all dresses wears,
And in a thousand shapes appears.
Pursued by fancy, how she roves
Through airy walks, and museful groves;
Springs in each plant and blossom'd tree,
And charms in all I hear and see!
In this elysium while I stray,
And nature's fairest face survey,
Earth seems new-born, and life more bright;
Time steels away, and smooths his flight;
And thought's bewilder'd in delight..
Where are the crowds I saw of late?
What are those tales of Europe's fate?
Of Anjou, and the Spanish crown;
And leagues to pull usurpers down?
Of marching armies, distant wars;
Of factions, and domestic jars?
Sure these are last night's dreams, no more;
Or some romance, read lately o'er;
Like Homer's antique tale of Troy,
And powers confederate to destroy
Priam's proud house, the Dardan name,
With him that stole the ravish'd dame,
And, to possess another's right,
Durst the whole world to arms excite.
Come, gentle Sleep, my eye-lids close,
These dull impressions help me lose :
Let Fancy take her wing, and find
Some better dream to soothe my mind;
Or, waking, let me learn to live;
The prospect will instruction give.
For see, where beauteous Thames does glide
Serene, but with a fruitful tide;
Free from extremes of ebb and flow,
Not swell'd too high, nor sunk too low :
Such let my life's smooth current be,
Till, from time's narrow shore set free,
It mingled with the' eternal sea;
And, there enlarg'd, shall be no more
That trifling thing it was before.
WRITTEN AT WALLINGTON-HOUSE, IN SURREY,
THE SEAT OF MR. BRIDGES.
ALL things were hush'd, as noise itself were dead;
No midnight mice stirr'd round my silent bed;
Not e'en a gnat disturb'd the peace profound,
Dumb o'er my pillow hung my watch unwound;
No ticking deathworm told a fancied doom,
Nor hidden cricket chirrup'd in the room;
No breeze the casement shook, or fann'd the leaves,
Nor drops of rain fell soft from off the eaves;
Nor noisy splinter made the candle weep,
But the dim watchlight seem'd itself asleep,
When tir'd I clos'd my eyes-How long I lay
In slumber wrapt I list not now to say:
When hark! a sudden noise.-See! open flies
The yielding door-I, starting, rub'd my eyes,
Fast clos'd awhile; and as their lids I rear'd,
Full at my feet a tall thin form appear'd,
While through my parted curtains rushing broke
A light like day, ere yet the figure spoke.
Cold sweat bedew'd my limbs-Nor did I dream;
Hear, mortals, hear! for real truth's my theme.
And now, more bold, I rais'd my trembling bones
To look-when lo! 'twas honest master Jones*;
Who wav'd his hand, to banish fear and sorrow,
Well charg'd with toast and sack, and cried, 'Good
morrow?'
O YES!-Hear, all the beaux and wits,
Musicians, poets, 'squires, and cits,
All, who in town or country dwell!
Say, can your tale or tidings tell
Of Tortorella's hasty flight?
Why in new groves she takes delight,
And if in concert, or alone,
The cooing murm'rer makes her moan?
Now learn the marks, by which you may
Trace out and stop the lovely stray!
Some wit, more folly, and no care,
Thoughtless her conduct, free her air;
Gay, scornful, sober, indiscreet,
In whom all contradictions meet;
Civil, affronting, peevish, easy,
Form'd both to charm you and displease you;
Much want of judgment, none of pride,
Modish her dress, her hoop full wide;
Brown skin, her eyes of sable hue;
Angel, when pleas'd; when vex'd, a shrew.
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