Dauntless exert! loose thou the furious fteeds,
Or while the steeds I loofe, with flaughtering hands
Invade the foldiery: He spoke, and now
The Queen of Arms inflam'd Tydides' foul
With all her martial fires: his reeking blade
On every fide dealt fate; low, hollow groans
Murmur'd around, blood o'er the crimfon field
Well'd from the slain: As in his nightly haunts
The furly lion rushes on the fold
Of sheep, or goat, and rends th' unguarded prey;
So he the Thracian bands: Twelve by his fword
Lay breathlefs on the ground: behind him stood
Sage Ithacus, and, as the warrior flew,
Swift he remov'd the flain, left the fierce fteeds,
Not yet inur'd to blood, fhould trembling start,
Impatient of the dead: Now o'er the king
He whirls his wrathful blade, now furious gores
His heaving chest: he wak'd not, but a dream
By Pallas fent, rose in his anxious thoughts;
A vifionary warrior frowning stood
Faft by his head, and his aërial sword
Plung'd through his labouring breaft: Mean while the fteeds
The fage unbinds, and instant with his bow
Drives through the fleeping ranks: Then to his friend Gave fignals of retreat; but nobler deeds
He meditates, to drag the radiant car,
Or lift it through the threefold ranks, up-born
High on his shoulders, or with flaughter stain
Th' enfanguin'd field; when lo! the Martial Maid
Down rushes from the battlements of heaven,
And fudden cries, Return, brave chief, return,
Left from the skies fome guardian power of Troy
Wrathful defcend, and rouze the hoftile bands.
Thus fpeaks the Warrior Queen the heavenly voice
Tydides owns, and mounts the fiery steeds,
Obfervant of the high command; the bow
Sage Ithacus apply'd, and tow'rd the tents
Scourg'd the proud steeds, the steeds flew o'er the plain.
A PASTORAL, to a young LADY upon her leaving, and return to, the Country.
AY, while each fcene fo beautiful appears, Why heaves thy bofom, and why flow thy tears? See! from the clouds the fpring defcends in showers, The painted vallies laugh with rising flowers : Smooth flow the floods, foft breathe the vernal airs, The fpring, flowers, floods, confpire to charm our
But vain the pleasure which the feason yields,
The laughing vallies, or the painted fields.
No more, ye floods, in filver mazes flow,
Smile not, ye flowers, no more foft breezes blow;
Far, Damon, far from thefe unhappy groves,
The cruel, lovely Rofalinda roves.
Ah! now I know why late the opening buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods;
Why droop'd the lily in her fnowy pride,
And why the rofe withdrew her fweets, and dy'd;
For thee, fair Rofalind, the opening buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods;
For thee the lily fhed her fnowy pride,
For thee the rose withdrew her fweets, and dy'd.
See! where yon' vine in soft embraces weaves
Her wanton ringlets with the myrtle's leaves,
'There tun'd sweet Philomel her fpirightly lay,
Both to the rifing and the falling day;
But fince fair Rofalind forfook the plains,
Sweet Philomel no more renews her strains;
With forrow dumb, fhe difregards her lay,
Nor greets the rifing nor the falling day.
Say, O! ye winds, that range the distant skies,
Now fwell'd to tempefts by my rifing fighs;
Say, while my Rofalind deferts these shores,
How Damon dies for whom his foul adores.
Ye murmuring fountains, and ye wandering floods, That vifit various, lands through various roads ;
Say, when ye find where Rofalind refides,
Say, how my tears increase your swelling tides.
Tell me, I charge you, O! ye sylvan swains,
Who range the mazy grove, or flowery plains,
Befide what fountain, in what breezy bower,
Reclines my charmer in the noon-tide hour!
Soft, I adjure you, by the skipping fawns,
By the fleet roes, that bound along the lawns;
Soft tread, ye virgin daughters of the grove,
Nor with your dances wake my fleeping love!
Return, O! virgin, and if proud disdain
Arm thy fierce foul, return, enjoy my pain;
If pleas'd thou view'ft a faithful lover's cares,
Thick rife, ye fighs; in floods defcend, ye tears?
Return, O virgin! while in verdant meads
By fprings we fport, or dream on flowery beds;
She weary wanders through the defert way,
The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.
Ah! fhield her, heaven! your rage, ye beasts, forbear! Thofe are not limbs for favages to tear!
Adieu, ye meads! with her through wilds I go
O'er burning fands, or everlafting fnow;
With her I wander through the desert way,
The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.
Come, Rofalind, before the wintery clouds
Frown o'er th' aërial vault, and rush in floods ;
Ere raging ftorms howl o'er the frozen plains;
Thy charms may fuffer by the storms or rains.
Come, Rofalind, O come; then infant flowers
Shall bloom and smile, and form their charms by
By you, the lily shall her white compose,
Your blush shall add new blushes to the rose;
Each flowery mead, and every tree shall bud,
And fuller honours cloath the youthful wood.
Yet, ah! forbear to urge thy homeward way,
While fultry funs infeft the glowing day :
The fultry funs thy beauties may impair !-
Yet hafte away! for thou art now too fair.
Hark! from yon' bower what airs foft warbled play!
My foul takes wing to meet th' enchanting lay:
Silence, ye nightingales! attend the voice!
While thus it warbles, all your songs are noise.
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