ing of which the Souls forgot all the Miferies they had fuffered in this World. Thus Virgil, ÆN. VI.

Lethai ad fluminis undam,

Securos latices, et longa oblivia potant.

In Lethe's Lake they long Oblivion taste;

Of futnre Life fecure; forgetful of the paft. DRYDEN, But this in Fact is a River in Portugal. The Greeks called it moramos Anons, and the Latins, flumen oblivionis. We now call it the River Lethe; but this is a Miftake, It ought to be called the River of Lethe, as the Romans called it the River of Oblivion, and not the River Oblivion. For, in the Greek, anons is not a proper Name, but the Genitive of the Word an0n, which denotes the Property of the River. The Fiction that these Waters were the Caufe of Forgetfulness in thofe who tafted them, was invented to how the Fertility of the Soil. Thus Homer has faid, that as foon as any Person had eat of the Lotos, he forgot his own Country, and could not be prevailed on to forfake a Soil, which produced fuch excellent Fruit. DACIER.

This ODE is omitted by Mr. FRANCIS.

I

The SAME ODE Imitated.

By Mrs. J. DUNCOMBE.

To Mifs B-WS.

Hear, my Friend, you oft enquire

Why thus neglected fleeps my Lyre,

And why the Pencil I no more
Inventive use, as heretofore;

As if, when Hymen wreath'd my Brow,
To quit the Arts he made me vow.

VOL. II.

1

'Tis true, far other Tafks employ
Maternal Hours with anxious Joy;
No more the Mufes I purfue,

Nor draw for Friendship and for You:
And fince this Fate moft fure attends,
Or foon or late, all married Friends,
How well foe'er you pafs your Hours,
Improving all your mental Powers,
May you be caught; and may your Heart
In Wedlock meet its Counter-part!
For greater Worth it cannot find
Than in your own exalted Mind;
And may you then with me rejoice,
And join a grateful Mother's Voice,
While I, my Infant in my Arms,
Contemplate all her opening Charms,
And fondly fancy, in her Face,
I every wish'd Endowment trace.
1764.

ODE XV.

To NEER A.

TWAS Night; and Cynthia with her ftarry

"TWAS Train

Serenely grac'd th' æthereal Plain,

When with fond Arms around myNeck you clung,

Clofe as on Oak is Ivy hung;

And,

And, as I dictated, you falfely fwore
By the dread Name of every Power,
That long as Wolves pursue the fearful Sheep,
Or fierce Orion fwells the Deep,

Or Phoebus' Treffes wanton in the Wind,
You would to Me continue kind.'

But if my Breaft the Sparks of Manhood warm,
Soon will I break Neard's Charm;

Nor her difdainful Cruelty will bear,

But feek, incens'd, fome faithful Fair. And you, more favour'd Youth, whoc'er you be, Who vainly triumph over Me,

Rich though you were in Herds and fertile Lands, Lord of Pacelus' golden Sands;

I

Of Wisdom, like Pythagoras poffeft,

And with the Charms of 2 Nireus bleft, Yet fhall you mourn the fickle Fair's Difdain, While I fhall mock your fruitless Pain.

NOTES.

1 The Wisdom of Pythagores was held in fuch Efteem among the Ancients, that his House, like a Temple, was looked upon with as much Veneration as a Deity.

2 Nireus was the handfomeft of all the Grecians that besieged Troy, Achilles alone excepted.

A

ODE XVI.

To the ROMAN PEOPLE.

By Mr. J. DUNCOMBE.

Second Age in Wars we wafte away,
And Rome muft fall to Rome a Prey.
She, against whom in vain Porfenna rag'd,
In vain the Marfian Foe engag'd,

Whom Capua's rival State could ne'er subdue,
Nor Spartacus's fervile Crew;

Nor (courting new Allies, but to the Call
Of Honour deaf) the perjur'd Gaul;
Nor Germany, of 2 blue-ey'd Sons the Nurse,
Nor Hannibal, the Parents Curfe,

Grieves, here at home, more cruel Foes to meet,
Where Beasts shall prowl in every Street:
Barbarian Courfers o'er the Duft fhall bound,
While with their Hoofs the Stones refound:
Nor will they, Romulus! thy Afhes fpare,
But rudely throw them in the Air.

But fome, or all, perhaps, may wish to know,
How we must ward th' impending Blow.
My Counsel is to go where profperous Gales
Point out the Way, and court our Sails;
To curfe, Phocæan-like, our old Abodes,
And leave to Beafts our Fields and Gods.

Give your Advice, or elfe to mine agree?
Then, with glad Omens, put to Sea.
But fwear we never to return again,

'Till Rocks fhall float upon the Main;
'Till Apennine is cover'd by the Waves,
And Po Matinus' Summit laves;
'Till different Kinds in Bands of Love are join'd,
Hawks, Doves; the Tyger, and the Hind;
'Till Sheep their Dread of Lions lay afide,
And Goats fhall fwim the briny Tide.
Thus, of each Hope of fweet Return bereft,
By all fhall this curs'd Town be left;
At least the better Sort; but let the Bale
Still cleave to this devoted Place.
But you, brave Friends! unmanly Tears give o'er,
And fail beyond the Tufcan shore,
Where, in the fpacious Bofom of Min,
Rife happy Islands, crown'd vin,
Which every Year adorns th' uncur n'd Land;
Nor Vineyards afk the Pruner's T¬d';
Where never-failing Shoots of Cle Mow,
And Figs the Parent-Trees bellow;
Where hollow Oaks drop Honey, and the Rills
In Murmurs trickle down the Hills.

Homeward the Goats with fwelling Udders bend,
And, pleas'd, the Milker's Hand attend;
No prowling Bear alarms the nightly Fold,
Nor Snakes are in huge Volumes roll'd.
And, farther ftill our Wonder to command,
Nor Showers, too frequent, drown the Land,