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E L E GY
To the MEMORY of an
W H AT beck’ning ghost, along the moon
light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she! ---but why that bleeding bosom gor’d, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, 5 Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm á heart, To act a Lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die? 10
Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her soul aspire Above the vulgar Alight of low desire?
NOTES * See the Duke of Buckingham's verlons to a lady delayang to retire into a Monastery compared with Mr. Pope's Lauer 9 several Ladies, p. 206. quarto Edition, lees uit
އޮވެ"ހ./" ޅެވެ. ޕީ. ރިހި، ށ ގަޔން ކޮޅު ކިޝް
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
25 And sep’rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! 30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, 35 Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,. .
What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade !)
What tho’ no facred earth allow thee room,
So peaceful rests without a stone a name, 69
Poets themselves must fall like those they sung, Deaf the prais’d ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whose foul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the gen’rous tear he pays ; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang Mall tear thee from his heart, Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!
Mr. ADDISON'S Tragedy
OF : :
C A TO.
T o wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
1 To raise the genius, and to mend the heart : To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage, 5 Commanding tears to stream thro' ev'ry age; Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move The hero's glory, or the virgin’s love; 10 In pitying Love, we but our weakness show, And wild Ambition well deserves its woe,