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All ages paft record, all countries now
That ev'n judge Paris would not know
And fome (though these be of a kind that 's rare,
That it the mother of the Gods might pofe,
A woman. Laureat to make,
Though Sappho and the famous Nine
To be a princess, or a queen,
Is great; but 'tis a greatness always feen:
Of female poets, who had names of old,
Nothing is shown, but only told, And all we hear of them perhaps may be Male-flattery only, and male-poetry.
Few minutes did their beauty's lightning wafte,
The thunder of their voice did longer last,
The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit
She does no partner with her fee ;
Does all the bufinefs there alone, which we
But wit's like a luxuriant vine-;
Unless to virtue's prop it join,
Firm and erect towards heaven bound; Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,
It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground.
Who our own sex fuperior call!
Orinda does our boasting sex out-do,
Never did spirit of the manly make,
And dip'd all o'er in Learning's facred lake,
No violent paffion could an entrance find
Through walls of stone those furious bullets may
When her foft breaft they hit, powerlefs and dead they lay!
The fame of Friendship, which fo long had told
Till hoarfe and weary with the tale fhe grew,
A new and more furprizing ftory,
Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory.
That he may come no ftranger there :
In this much different clime, for her remove
HYMN то LIGHT.
IRST-born of Chaos, who fo fair didft come
FIRS-born of negros darkfome womb
Which, when it faw the lovely child, The melancholy mafs put on kind looks and fmil'd; Thou tide of glory, which no reft doft know,
But ever ebb and ever flow!
Thou golden fhower of a true Jove!
Who does in thee defcend, and heaven to earth make
Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health!
Her joy, her ornament, and wealth!
Hail to thy husband Heat, and thee!
Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lufty bridegroom
Say from what golden quivers of the fky
Do all thy winged arrows fly?
Swiftnefs and power by birth are thine:
From thy great fire they came, thy fire the Word Divine.
'Tis, I believe, this archery to show,
That fo much coft in colours thou,
And skill in painting, doft bestow,
Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow,
Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,
Let a post-angel start with thee,
And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as foon as he.
Thou in the moon's bright chariot, proud and gay,
And all the year doft with thee bring
Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring.
Thou, Scythian-like, doft round thy lands above
(0 greatnefs without pride!) the bushes of the field.
Night, and her ugly subjects, thou doft fright,
And Sleep, the lazy owl of night;
They skreen their horrid fhapes with the black hemisphere.
With them there haftes, and wildly takes th' alarm,
At the first opening of thine eye
The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.
The guilty ferpents, and obfcener beasts,
Nature to thee does reverence pay,
Ill omens and ill fights removes out of thy way.
To shake his wings, and rouze his head:
A gentle beamy fmile, reflected from thy look.