« السابقةمتابعة »
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain
Roard for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft !
The lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain:
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n decrees ! with heav'n who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere,
* Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there.
There hero's wits are kept in pondrous vases,
And beaus in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.
There broken vows, and death-bed alons are found,
And lover's hearts with ends of riband bound;
The courtier's promises, and fick man's pray'rs,
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea;
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cafuiftry.
But trust the muse she saw it upward rise, Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes: (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confefsd in view.)
A sudden star, it shot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright,
The heav'ns bespangling with dishevel'd light,
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' the skies.
This the Beau-monde (hall from the mall survey
And hail with mufic its propitious ray:
This, the blest lover shall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rofamonda's lake.:.
This Partridge soon fhall view in cloudless fries,
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes ;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom.
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn the ravisk'd Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! Not all the tresses that fair head can boaft, Shall draw such envy as the lock you loft. For, after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions Nain, your felf shall die ; When those fair funs shall set, as set they must, And all those treffes shall be laid in duft ;This lock, the muse shall confecrate to fame, And 'midt the stars inscribe Belinda's name!
Escend ye nine ! descend and fing;
The breathing instruments infpire,
Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a sadly pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain :
Let the loud trumpet found,
Till the roofs all around
The Thrill-echos rebound:
While in more lengthen'd notes and now,
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers, soft and clear, .
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with fpreading Younds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling the wild music floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and small,,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
In a dyings dying fall. 10
By musick, minds an equal temper know,-
Nor swell too high, por sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
Or when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors the fires with animated sounds;
Pours balın into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head;
Morpheus rowzes from his bed;
Sloth unfolds her arins and wakes,
Lift'ning envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our passions wage,
Ev'n giddy factions hear away their rage.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music ev'ry bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round;
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Enflam’d with glory's charms :
Each chief his fev’nfold shield display'd,
And half unfheath'd the shining blade;
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!
But when thro' all th' infernal bounds
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,