She is---THYR. Alas! fhe was, but is no more:
Now, Damon, now, let thy fwoln eyes run o'er :
Here to this turf by thy fad Thyrfis grow,
And, when my streams of grief too shallow flow,
Let-in thy tide to raise the torrent high,
Till both a deluge make, and in it die.
DAM. Then, that to this wish'd height the flood might fwell,
Friend, I will tell thee.-THYR. Friend, I thee will
How young, how good, how beautiful she fell.
Oh! fhe was all for which fond mothers pray,
Bleffing their babes when first they see the day.
Beauty and the were one, for in her face
Sat fweetness temper'd with majestic grace;
Such powerful charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet fuch attractive goodness as might draw
The humbleft, and to both give equal law.
How was the wonder'd at by every swain!
The pride, the light, the goddess of the plain!
On all she shin'd, and spreading glories caft
Diffufive of herself, where-e'er fhe past,
There breath'd an air fweet as the winds that blow
From the bleft shores where fragrant fpices grow:
Ev'n me fometimes fhe with a fmile would grace,
Like the fun fhining on the vileft place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the delight
Of feafting on her eyes my longing fight:
But to a being fo fublime, fo pure,
Spar'd my devotion, of my love fecure.
DAM. Her beauty fuch: but Nature did defign That only as an anfwerable fhrine
To the divinity that's lodg'd within.
Her foul shin'd through, and made her form fo bright,
As clouds are gilt by the fun's piercing light.
In her finooth forehead we might read expreft
The even calmness of her gentle breast :
And in her sparkling eyes as clear was writ
The active vigour of her youthful wit.
Each beauty of the body or the face
Was but the fhadow of fome inward grace.
Gay, fprightly, chearful, free, and unconfin'd,
As innocence could make it, was her mind;
Yet prudent, though not tedious nor severe,
Like those who, being dull, would grave appear;
Who out of guilt do chearfulness despise,
And, being fullen, hope men think them wife.
How would the liftening fhepherds round her throng,
To catch the words fell from her charming tongue!
She all with her own spirit and foul inspir'd,
Her they all lov'd, and her they all admir'd.
Ev'n mighty Pan, whofe powerful hand fuftains
The fovereign crook that mildly awes the plains,
Of all his cares made her the tendereft part,
And great Louisa lodg'd her in her heart.
THYR. Who would not now a folemn mourning keep, When Pan himself and fair Louisa weep?
When those bleft eyes, by the kind gods defign'd
To cherish nature, and delight mankind,
All drown'd in tears, melt into gentler fhowers.
Than April-drops upon the fpringing flowers?
Such tears as Venus for Adonis fhed,
When at her feet the lovely youth lay dead;
About her, all her little weeping Loves
Ungirt her Ceftos, and unyok'd her doves.
DAM. Come, pious nymphs, with fair Louisa come, And vifit gentle Floriana's tomb;
And, as ye walk the melancholy round,
Where no unhallow'd feet prophane the ground,
With your chafte hands fresh flowers and odours shed
About her last obscure and filent bed;
Still praying, as ye gently move your feet,
"Soft be her pillow, and her flumber sweet!"
THYR. See where they come, a mournful lovely train
As ever wept on fair Arcadia's plain :
Louifa, mournful far above the rest,
In all the charms of beauteous forrow dreft;
Juft are her tears, when the reflects how foon
A beauty, fecond only to her own,
Flourish'd, look'd gay, was wither'd, and is gone!
DAM. O, she is gone! gone like a new-born flower, That deck'd fome virgin queen's delicious bower; Torn from the stalk by fome untimely blast, And 'mongst the vileft weeds and rubbish cast: Yet flowers return, and coming fprings disclose The lily whiter, and more fresh the rose; But no kind season back her charms can bring, And Floriana has no fecond fpring.
THYR. O, fhe is fet! fet like the falling fun;
Darkness is round us, and glad day is gone.
Alas! the fun that 's fet, again will rise,
And gild with richer beams the morning-skies;
But beauty, though as bright as they it shines,
When its short glory to the Weft declines,
O, there's no hope of the returning light;
But all is long oblivion, and eternal night!
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHE L*.
Thought, forgive my fin, the boafted fire
Of poets' fouls did long ago expire ;
Of folly or of madness did accufe
The wretch that thought himself poffeft with Mufe ;
Laugh'd at the god within, that did inspire
With more than human thoughts the tuneful choir;
But fure 'tis more than fancy, or the dream
Of rhymers flumbering by the Muses' stream.
Some livelier spark of heaven, and more refin'd
From earthy drofs, fills the great Poet's mind :
Witness these mighty and immortal lines,
Through each of which th' informing genius fhines:
Scarce a diviner flame infpir'd the King,
Of whom thy Mufe does fo fublimely fing:
Not David's felf could in a nobler verfe
His gloriously-offending Son rehearse;
* Mr. Dryden published it without his name.
Though in his breast the Prophet's fury met,
The Father's fondnefs, and the Poet's wit.
Here all confent in wonder and in praise,
And to the UNKNOWN POET altars raise :
Which thou must needs accept with equal joy
As when Æneas heard the wars of Troy,
Wrapt up himself in darkness and unseen,
Extoll'd with wonder by the Tyrian queen.
Sure thou already art fecure of fame,
Nor want'ft new glories to exalt thy name :
What Father elfe would have refus'd to own
So great a Son as god-like Abfalom?
MARRIAGE of Captain WILLIAM BEDLOE.
"Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus avæna, "Arma virumque cano.”
I, he, who fung of humble Oates before,
Now fing a Captain and a Man of WAR.
GODDESS of Rhyme, that didft inspire
The Captain with poetic fire,
Adding fresh laurels to that brow
Where those of victory did grow,
And statelier ornaments may flourish now !
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