That mine, with pious undissembled care,
Might aid the latent virtue struggling there;
Alas, I rave! nor grace, nor zeal divine,

Burns in a breast o'erwhelm'd with crimes like mine.
Too sure I find (whilst I the fortune prove
Of feeble piety, conflicting love)

On black despair, my forc'd devotion built,
Absence, to me, has greater pangs than guilt.
Ah! yet my Eloisè, thy charms I view,
Yet my sighs break, and my tears flow for you;
Each weak resistance stronger knits
my chain;
I sigh, weep, love, despair, repent in vain!
Haste, Eloisa, haste thy lover free ;

Amidst thy warmer prayers, O think of me!
Wing with thy rising zeal my groveling mind:
And let me mine from thy repentance find:
Ah! labour, strive; thy love, thyself controul;
The change will sure affect my kindred soul:
In bless'd consort our purer sighs shall grieve,
And, Heaven assisting, shall our crimes forgive.
But if unhappy, wretched, lost in vain,
Faintly th' unequal combat you sustain :
If not to Heaven you feel your bosom rise,
Nor tears, refin'd, fall contrite from your eyes:
If still thy heart thy wonted passions move,
And thy tongue prompts thy tender soul to love;
Deaf to the weak essays of living breath,
Attend the stronger eloquence of death.

When that kind power this captive soul shall free,
(Which, only then, can cease to doat on thee)
When gently sunk to my eternal sleep,
The Paraclete my peaceful urn shall keep;
Then, Eloisa, then, thy lover view,

See these quench'd eyes no longer fix'd on you,

From their dead orbs that tender utterance flown, Which first on yours my heart's soft tales made known.

This breath no more, at length to ease consign'd,
Pant like light aspins quivering with the wind;
See, all my wild tumultuous passions o'er,
And thou, amazing scene! belov'd no more:
Behold the destin'd end of human love,
But let the sight thy zeal alone improve;
Let not thy conscious soul, with sorrow mov'd,
Recal how much, how tenderly you lov'd!
With pious care thy fruitless grief restrain,
Nor let a tear thy sacred veil profane ;
Nor e'en a sigh on my cold urn bestow,
But let thy breath with sacred rapture glow;
Let love divine frail mortal love dethrone,
And to thy mind immortal joys make known:
Let Heaven, relenting, strike thy ravish'd view,
And still the bright, the bless'd pursuit, renew:
So, with thy crimes, shall thy misfortunes cease,
And thy wreck'd soul be calmly hush'd to peace.

CHLOE REPROVED.

As Chloe, conscious of her pretty face,
Kiss'd the reflected goddess in the glass;

'And shall these charms,' she cries, 'these matchless charms,

To-night be buried in a husband's arms?
No! since the gods indulgent give me power,
I'll reign, at least, the tyrant of an hour!'
She said, and to the glittering toilet flew,
Heighten'd each charm, and ev'n diviner grew;
A thousand arts, a thousand airs she tries,
And thus computes the conquests of her eyes.
"With scorn, Honorio's passion I resign,
Brillantis, dear Brillantis! shall be mine;
Conquer'd Sireno shall these charms adore,
Sylvander, and an endless thousand more.'
Thus spoke the proud premeditated bride,
And the Cosmetic-oracle reply'd.

'Beware, fair maid, beware, nor strive to prove The dangerous varieties of love;

But think how brittle are those charms you boast,
And think how soon that beauty may be lost.
For this (take notice what I say)

Depend on, to your sorrow,

That if you change your mind to-day,
I'll change your face to-morrow.'

TO A FRIEND,

DISSUADING HIM FROM LOVING A CERTAIN LADY.

Ir aught a kindly caution can impart,
Be this, not love, imprinted on thy heart;
Let every line a well-known truth commend,
And where you doubt the poet, trust the friend,
Let vanquis'd reason re-assume the field,
And to the true, the fictious goddess yield.

What Homer feigns, when fierce Tydides strove,
Inspir'd by Pallas, with the queen of love;
But shows the weakness of vain beauty's art,
Whilst wisdom's sacred influence arms the heart:
Yet, green in age, unvers'd in female wiles,
Each specious show our easy sight beguiles;
Gay courting scenes the early path adorn,
And blooming beauty paints our youthful morn;
Our heedless pleasures with false objects rise,
Blind to the blackening cloud, and gathering skies.
But, ah! methinks I hear thee, sighing, say,
Such charms invite! so flowery smiles the way!
Resolv'd, fair beauty's lovely maze I'll run-
Who might not thus ? who would not be undone?—
O stay, rash youth! beware, be timely wise,
Lurk'd in that labyrinth another monster lies!
How weak were females snares, how vain each
wile,

Did not our eyes our hood-wink'd minds beguile!
Like gross idolaters, we form the power,
Then the dull image, as a god, adore;

Breath'd in soft sighs, our pleading souls impart,
And, for the victim, sacrifice our heart:

Hence, Celia rules, the tyrant of thy breast,
In all the seeming Deity confess'd;

Hence, when she speaks, there's music in the sound, Hence, when she looks, her eyes like lightnings wound:

But, to thy reason's eye, the scene display,
And the proud phantom-goddess fades away;
No more her immortality remains,

Unless preserv'd in thy immortal strains.

Grant we, thy Celia's charms superior shine, Or, in the lover's language, look divine! Yet, is each charm to her alone confin'd? Or canst thou judge, by partial passion blind? Still, will each faithful, love-alluring grace, Beam in her eye, and brighten up her face? So, the blue summit of some mountain's height, Wrapt in gay clouds, deludes the distant sight; But, as with gazing eyes we draw more near, Fades the false scene, and the rough rocks appear. Nor outward form thy easy thought control,

But be the look an index to the soul;

For, when old Nature fram'd the faithless fair,
From every work the goddess cull'd a share ;
In heavenly beauty bade her face excel,
But made her heart the treasury of hell:
Hence, pride, and lust, and jealous fury grow,
The springs of sorrow, and the seeds of woe!
Thus brothels with a painted angel shine,
Whilst latent devils, ambush'd, lurk within.

Nor think, my Damon, that I rashly blame
Thy too good nature, thy too generous flame;
Like thine my victim'd heart the pangs has bore,
But (ah, delightful change!) endures no more;