There nothing wants to justify my flame,
The statesmen grant, but a poor empty name.
And what's the gaudy title of a King?
What sort of bliss can royal grandeur bring?
When thou art absent, what's the court to me,
But tiresome state and dull formality?
This toy, a crown, I would resign to prove
The peaceful joys of innocence and love.
LETTER XVIII.
PENELOPE to ULYSSES.
[From OVID.]
DISTRACTED With his stay, yet still the same,
True to her ancient vows, and early flame,
Penelope salutes her absent King:
Oh! would himself at last an answer bring!
Proud Troy is fall'n, our Grecian virgins hate :
Yet not th' unrivall'd riches of her state,
Nor all the glories of her monarch's throne,
Can, for the pains thy absence gives, atone.
Oh! had the waves, that gently wafted o'er
The lustful Phrygian to the Spartan shore,
Plung'd in the deep the guilty load they bore!
Abandon'd then, I should not waste away
In unavailing moans the lazy day;
Or lost to joy, and widow'd of delight,
Curse the dull lagging hours of the more tedious night.
Fruitful of doubts, my love still fear'd for you
Dangers unknown, and greater than the true
I thought all Troy conspir'd against thy head,
And Hector's name, but mention'd, struck me dead.
Trembling, I heard of false Achilles slain,
And wept to find the bold deceit was vain.
Tiepolemus fell by the Lycian spear,
Tlepolemus renew'd my anxious care.
In short at ev'ry Grecian hero's fall,
Through the long war before the fatal wall,
A thrilling coldness ran through every part,
Chill'd up my blood, and shudder'd at my heart,
But my chaste passion mov'd the pitying skies;
My Lord is safe, and Troy in ashes lyes.
With prosp'rous gales the Argive chiefs return,
And to their country gods Barbaric incense burn.
The wives in pious gifts declare their joy,
While their sav'd husbands tell the fate of Troy;
Old men and frighted virgins, fix'd around,
In dumb amzaement dwell upon the sound:
The soldiers in gay feasts their cares compose,
And mark in wine the scenes of ancient woes.
This is Sigæum, here swift Simois flow'd,
There high erect old Priam's palace stood;
Here fierce Pelides urg'd the dreadful war,
There fix'd the bleeding Hector to his car;
There mov'd Ulysses, certain of success,
Greater his conduct nor his courage less.
'Twas Nestor told us all: he told us too
The arts that Dolon and the Thracian slew.
Heedless, and too forgetful as you were,
In you, I'm sure, 'twas criminal to dare;
When you, but for one faithful friend alone,
Dealt fate to squadrons, and provok'd your own,
How well your wife and infant left behind,
How well your tender passion fill'd your mind!
I fainted as I heard the dreadful tale;
Scarce your success could o'er my fears prevail.
But what's success, what's ruin'd Troy to me,
Or all the savage joys of victory?
If still unbless'd, I sink beneath my pain,
And never must enjoy my Lord again
For other wives destroy'd to me still stands
The wall erected by immortal hands.
Now plenteous harvests grow where Ilium stood,
The soil well fatten'd with the natives blood;
O'er ruin'd palaces that reach'd the skies
Low spires of grass and humble shrubs arise.
Still of the conqu'ror's absence I complain,
Nor know what distant worlds my wand'ring Lord detain.
Ulysses I of ev'ry ship require,
The sailors with repeated questions tire:
Hopeless and half despairing, yet I write;
The cruel Pow'rs that envy my delight
May bring at least my letters to your sight.
To Pylos, ancient Nestor's fruitful reign,
And Sparta's injur'd court, I sent in vain ;
For nor from Sparta nor from Pylos came
Aught save wild rumours, and uncertain fame.
Again I wish Troy's lofty tow'rs might rise,
And curse the thoughtless vows that gain'd the skies.
War's hazards then would be my only care,
And I in common with a thousand fear.
Now all the dangers of the land and seas
Are present to my thoughts, and banish ease:
While you, alas! perhaps with pleasure rove,
And faithless nourish a forbidden love;
Take some deluding harlot to your breast,
And in her arms, with lawless transports bless'd,
Make my dull easy constancy your jest.
Ye Pow'rs! avert the thought I cannot bear,
And give my vain suspicions to the air.
Whate'er may be the reasons of thy stay,
Oh! may'st thou never willingly delay!
Me to a second choice my sire invites,
Chides my delays, and urges all his rights.
Still let him urge, my love my faith assures;
I am, I must, I will be, ever yours.
Yet my warm pray'rs the good old monarch move,
He views my tears, and mourns my hapless love,
But a vile train of thoughtless youths proclaim,
With lawless impudence, a saucy flame.
Hither from Zante and Samos they resort,
And revel unmolessed in thy court.
Treasures, the purchase of thy blood, they seize,
Those spoils Eurymachus, Pisander these:
Antinous here, with equal rage possess'd,
There greedy Polybus, a constant guest,
Plunder around-and need I name the rest,
Who in your absence on our vitals prey,
And waste in costly luxury the day?
The beggar Irus, a detested name,
And base Melanthus last, complete thy shame.
'Gainst these insults what force can I employ,
1
What thy old father, or thy tender boy?
For his dear life a thousand snares are laid,
And certain ruin aim'd at his unguarded head.
Preserve him, Heav'n! and if we ne'er must join,
Yet may he live to close your eyes and mine.
In vain Laertes does his pow'r oppose,
Unfit for war against surrounding foes.
Telemachus will soon to fame aspire,
Now his soft years a parent's aid require.
Oh! thou, our only hope and refuge, come,
Dispel our dangers, and avert our doom:
Form the young hero in the arts of war,
To rival thee, but with more caution dare.
Haste, and relieve your sire, with years oppress'd:
Once more he longs to clasp you in his breast,
Then shake off tedious life, and sink to rest.
Oh! haste to me!-A little longer stay
Will ev'ry grace, each fancy'd charm, decay :
Increasing cares, and Time's resistless rage,
Will waste my bloom, and wither it to age;
Yet at thy sight wild joys and sprightly love
Shall dying youth recall, and ev'ry charm improve.
From LAURA, giving an account of ber brother's criminal amour, and her own passion for the handsome hermit.
COULD your importunity have prevailed with my
brother to have left me in London, you had been free from the vexation that I shall certainly give you, by making you the confidant of all my country adventures; and I hope you will relieve my chagrin, by telling me what the dear bewitching, busy world is doing, while I am idly sauntering away my time in rural shades. How happy are you, my dear Aurelia! how I envy you the enjoyment of dust, of crowds, and noise, with all the polite hurry of the beau monde !
My brother brought me hither to see a countryseat he has lately purchased: he would fain per
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