2

Transports to vulgar breasts unknown;

Wild and roving be my fire,

My numbers loose and unconfin'd,

As when above I charm'd, and touch'd th' audacious lyre.

I would not please by artful lays;

Let others curious gardens praife,

Their nice exactnefs does but tire my fight,

And less than happy chance delight:

I love the forefl's wafte retreat,
Where all's irregularly great;
Where Nature, uncorrected, unfupply'd,
-Profufely lavishes her bounteous pride,
The foreign aids of fervile arts difdains,
And beauteous in her own disorder reigns.
VII.

Goddefs, all thy power muft own,
All muft bend before thy throne:
Pious pray'rs may move the skies,
And angry Jove is pleas'd with facrifice;
But nor pray'rs, nor piety,

Nor facrifice preserve from thee.
The fons of art, with fruitless care,
The tott'ring building may repair;
Quickly the feeble ruins fink away,

And moulder into common clay;

Themselves to yield at last, and thy stern force obey.
Thetis, who ftudious her great fon to fave,

Doom'd long before to fall at Troy,

Dipt him all o'er in Styx's wave,

Yet left a place for Fate, and mourn'd the daring boy.

How num'rous are the worlds of dead,

That o'er thy vaft domain are spread!
New nations every moment land,
And cover all the fpacious ftrand.
The Aubborn-deftinies no mercy f

Thow;

All mankind ('tis Fate's decree,
And fix'd as Fate itfelf can be)
Muft people the dark realms below.
Grandeur, courage, learning, wit,
To thy refiftless laws fubmit;

The king and beggar fhare an equal doom;
The mightiest conquerors must come,
To join the crowds they vanquish'd, in the tomb.
Vainly, tuneful bards, ye strive

To gain that immortality you give ;

In vain you feck to shield your deftin'd head,
In vain by meaner worth would fave

Your finking carcafe from the grave;

Dare ye to hope for life, when Pindar's felf is dead? IX.

Inexorable Queen, thy force proclaim,

In fullen majesty maintain

Thy dreaded, universal reign,

Nor own imperial Juno's greater name.
Only my verse shall with thy pow'r engage,
Dare all thy might, and brave thy feeble rage;
My verse, which, fpight of Fate, and thee,
Shall please to all eternity.

Let Gods averfe, and hoftile pow'rs

Level with earth Thebes' lofty tow'rs;

Still the more lafting notes I fung,

My country's ruin fhall furvive,
And rev'renc'd even by foes fhall live,

Charm ev'ry ear, and dwell on ev'ry tongue.
X.

But hark! what founds are thefe I hear?
What other mufic wounds my ear?
Heav'ns! 'tis Corinna fings! too well I know
The rival lyre, and lovely, conqu'ring foe.
Ah! 'tis too much, infulting maid!
To hope a fecond triumph o'er my fhade:

No longer thou in those bright charms canst trust,
Which forc'd ev'n rev'rend age to be unjust;
Thy pow'rful eyes no longer plead thy cause,
Prevent all cenfure, and secure applause.
See, while I speak, thy weakness all appear!
Only the vulgar dead, a nameless throng,
About thee croud, and liften to thy fong;
While all th' illustrious shades my numbers hear.
Orpheus, who first inspir'd the vocal lyre,
Homer, the Grecian mufe's fire,

And the gay § Teian bard attend my lays;
And by their filence beft proclaim my praise.

XI.

My charming mufic can affuage
The triple-headed monster's rage;
Gentle at my feet he lies,

No longer threatens with his eyes;
And all his ears are bufy on the notes
That stop the yelling of his idle throats.

Here Sifyphus, with endlefs toil oppreft,

Leans on the unmoving ftone, and fhares a paufe of rest;

Fix'd on my voice, there the dire † Sisters lie,

Their empty veffels ftand neglected by.

Ev'n the ftern Minos, for a while,

His rugged vifage foften'd to a smile,
Puts off the judge, and yields to give
The trembling criminals a fhort reprieve.
The Fates, that never pity knew,
Are foften'd into pity too;

And negligent to cut the tender thread,
Rob hell awhile of its appointed dead.

See! ev'n the Furies lift'ning ftand,

And on my fongs intent,

Forget the care of punishment;

And each avenging whip drops gently from their hasid.

T4

AN EPISTLE TO CLIMENE.

Imitated from the French of M. DES HOULIERES.
STILL must we mourn your absence, still complain,
And court you from your fad retreat in vain?
When teeming earth, with fruitful moisture fed,
Brings forth new flow'rs to deck the paths you tread;
When each returning morn fhines doubly bright,
And each cool ev'ning brings a charming night,
The country fhades may yield a foft delight:
But when o'er all the favage winter reigns,
Makes bare the groves, and defolates the plains;
When nature's face is chang'd, and ev'ry day
Snatches fome poor, decaying charm away,
'Tis downright madness, Climene, to stay.
What new unheard-of pleasures can you find?
What strange delights to entertain your mind?
Or do important reafons force your will,
And to the gloomy fcene confine you still?
I guess the mighty cause: You fear to prove,
In this vile town, the dreadful thing call'd Love.
The little tyrant reigns amidst the sport,
The fmiles and pleasures of the town and court:
Nor only there, him ev'n the wilds obey,
And country deferts own his awful sway.
In vain to woods and folitudes we fly,

In vain the city change for purer sky;

More dang'rous ev'n than courts, the shades may prove,
And with more eafe admit th' invader love.
Wild was the place, and favage all around.
Where fair Angelica young Medor found;
Severe the dame, and grave, and sternly coy;
Am'rous, and soft, and tender was the boy :
You know the reft.-Then hafte from your abodes,
Leave the weak fhelter of the fields and woods:

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come, and in a thousand breasts inspire Succefslefs rage, and unavailing fire!

Nor dread th' effects of all their treach'rous arts,
Their boasted stratagems to conquer hearts;

Unless the Fates àffift, their moving tale
Will never o'er your native cold prevail.
To prove this true, believe the tale I tell,
Not oracles more facred truths reveal.

As wand'ring penfive thro' the filent groves,
I meditate my forrows and my loves,
Daphnis, the terror of our woods, I view;
A mightier name love's empire never knew:
None e'er fo well a haughty breast could tame,
Or warm to fires unknown the coldest dame.
Proftrate before a heedless fair he lyes,
Sheds fruitless tears, and wastes a thousand sighs;
Then love and forrow pleading in his look,
Thus to the cruel nymph the charmer spoke :
How long, my fair, will you your fate delay?
Still will you idly wafte the precious day,
And in indifference loiter lite away?

Hear always with contempt my tender theme,

Defpife love's pleasures, and his pow'r blaspheme?
Ah, no! the joys my paffion courts in vain,
Another fhepherd with more ease will gain:
His happier flame will your fierce pride remove,
Subdue your stubborn heart, and melt it all to love.
All nature owns the God: in barb'rous plains,
Where half the year is night, and cold eternal reigns,
The frozen race is warm'd to foft defires,

And feels in ev'ry vein the genial fires.
However diftant, the dread hour must come,
Which all your fading beauties will refume:

Then, in a juft revenge, the offended boy

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