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Whose lovely lights on ev'ry object fall Watchful, and silent move the duteous bands, By due degrees, yet still distinguish all.
One look excites them, and one breath comYet as the best of mortals are sometimes
mands, Not quite exempt from folly or from crimes;
Hail happy Painting ! to confirm thy sway, There are, who think that nature is not free Ocean, and air their various tributes pay. From some few symptoms of deformity.
The purple insect 9 spreads her wings to thee, Hence springs a doubt, if painters may be Wafts o'er the breeze, or glitters on the tree. To err, who copy nature in a fault, [thought Earth's winding veins unnumber'd treasures bold, Led by some servile rule, whose pow'r prevails And the warm champian ripens into gold, On imitation, when th' example fails.
A clearer blue the lazuli bestows, Poets, and painters here employ your skill ;
Here umber deepens, there vermillion glows. Be this the doctrine of your good and ill,
For thee, her tender greens, and flourets rise, Enough to pose the critics of a nation,
Whose colours change in ever-mingling dyes; Nice as the rules of Puritan-salvation.
Ev’n those fair groves (for Eden first design'd) Yet if the seeds of art we nicely trace 6; Weep in soft fragrance through their balmy rind: There dawns a heav'nly, all-inspiring grace,
Transparent tears! that glitter as they run, No tongue expresses it, no rule contains;
Warm'd with the blushes of the rising San. (The glorious cause unseen) th’ effect remains : Here cease my song-a gentler theme inFram'd in the brain, it fows with easy art,
spires Steals on the sense, and wins the yielding heart, Each tender thought, and wakes the lover's fires. A pleasing vigour mixt with boldness charms, Once more your aid celestial Muses bring ; And happiness completes what passion warms.
Sacred the lays! nor to the deaf we sing. Nor is it thought a trifle, to express
In ancient Greece lo there liv'd, unknown to The various shapes, and foldings of the dress 7, A nymph, and Mimicina was her name. [fame, With graceful case the pencil to command, Smit by a neighb'ring youth betimes she fell And copy nature with a hasty hand.
Victim to love, and bade the world farewell. Through the clear robe the swelling muscles rise, Thoughtful aud dull she pind her bloom away Or heaving breasts, that decently surprise ; In lonely groves, nor saw the cheerful day. As some coy virgin with dejected mien (seen, This might be borne-but lo! her lovely swain Conceals her charms, yet hopes they may be Must part, ah, never to return again! Be ev'ry person's proper habit known 8,
One mutual kiss must mutual passion sever, Pecaliar to bis age, or sex alone.
One look divide 'em, and divide for ever! In flowing robes the monarch sweeps along, See, now she lies abandou'd to despair, Large are the foldings, natural, and strong:
And to rude winds unbinds ber flowing hair: Tide ample lights in spreading glories play,
Beauteous neglect! when melting to her woes, And here contrasted, deeper shades decay. A Sylvan majd from her dark grotto rose : The virgin-pow'rs who haunt the silver floods. (Long had she view'd the solitary fair, And hoary hills, and consecrated woods, Her bleeding bosom heav'd with equal care) Soft strokes, and graceful negligence demand, A heav'nly picture in her hand she bore, The nice resultance of an easy hand;
She smild, she gave it, and was seen no more Loose to the winds their airy garments fly
Pleas'd Mimicina, speechless with surprise, Like filmy dews, too tender for the eye.
Ey'd the fair form, and lightning of the eyes : But e'er these charms are to perfection wrought, She knew-and sighing gave a tender kiss; Adapted manuals must be nicely sought. Her noble passion was content with this: Gay vivid colours must the draught inspire, No more his absence, or her woes deplor'd, Now melt with sweetness and now burn with fire. And as the living, she the dead ador'd. å northern sky must aid the steady sight,
Thus Painting rose, to nourish soft desires, Else the shades alter with the transient light. And gentle hopes, and friendship's purer fires : Methinks the loaded table stands display'd,
Thus still the lover must his nymph adore, Each nicer vase “ in mystic order laid.” And sigh to charms, that ought to charm no Here ocean's mistress heaps around her shells Beauteous, and recent from the sea-green cells; Thus when these eyes, with kind illusions blest, The taper pencils here are rang'd apart, Survey each grace Parthenia once possest: There chalk, lead, vials, and loose schemes of Her winning sweetness, and attractive ease, art.
And gentle smiles that never fail'd to please; So when bold Churchill with a geu'ral's care Heav'ns! how my fancy kindles at the view, Eyes his brave Britons crowding to the war;
And my fond heart relents, and bleeds anew!
Fair faithless virgin! with constraint unkind, • Tradi omnia, quæ ars efficit, non possunt.
Misled by duty, and through custom blind : Quintil. Lib. 8. cap. 10. Perhaps ev'n now, from pride and intrest free, · Vide etiam quæ seqnuntur de Pictore.
Thou shar'st each pang of all I felt for thee; ? Non refert quid facias, sed quo loco. Nam 1h, no-my pray’rs, my tears, my vows resign, matus omnis non tam snâ, quam rei cui ad- Alas, 'tis now a crime to call me thine, biletur, conditione constat.
To act the tender, or the friendly part;
Nomhate, forget me, tear me from my heart,
10 This story, with several others, is mentionDoctum imitatorem,
ed by most ancient writers. I have chosen it as Horat, de Art. Poet.
the most poetical. TOL. II.
Yet still thy smiles in breathing paint inspire, Excessive beauty, like a flash of light, Stil thy kind glances set my soul on fire. Seems more to weaken, than to please the sights Thither each hour I lift my thoughtful eye, In one gay thought luxuriant Ovid writ, Now drop a tear, now softly breathe a sigh; And Voiture tires us, but with too much wit. Sacred 'till deaih my gentlest vows shall be, Some all their value for grotesque express, And the last gasp of life be breath'd for thee ! Beauty they prize, but beauty in excess :
You too, O Sculpture, shall exalt my lays, Where each gay figure seems to glare apart, Pictura's sister-candidate for praise !
Without due grace, proportion, sbades, or art. Soft Raphael's air divine, Antonio " shows; (The sad remains of Goths in ancient times, And all Le Brun in mimic Picart'' glows. And rev'rend dulness, and religious rhymes) Hither ye nations, now direct your eyes, So youthful poets ring their music round Rise crown'd with lustre, gentle Albion rise! On one eternal harmony of sound. Now thy soft Hillar, now thy Smith appears, “ The lines are gay,” and whosoe'er pretends A faultless pattern to succeeding years;
To search for more, mistakes the writer's ends. There sacred domes " in length’ning vistas Colours, like words, with equal care are sought, charm,
These please the sight, and those express the And British beauties here for ever warm.
thought, Most painters, of less judgment than caprice, But most of all, the landscape seems to please Are like old maidens infamously nice:
With calm repose, and rural images. It matters nought if rules be false or true, See, in due lights th' obedient objects stand, all shou'd be modish, whimsical and new; As happy ease exalts the master's hand. Fond of each change, the present stillthey praise, See, absent rocks hang trembling in the sky, So women love-and actors purchase plays. See, distant mountains vanish from the eye; As if self-love, or popular offence,
A darker verdure stains the dusky woods ; Receiv'd a sanction to mislead our sense ; Float's the green shadow in the silver foods; Or party-notions, vapours, faith, and zeal Fair visionary worlds surprise the view, Were all, at proper times, infallible.
And fancy forms the golden age a-new. True wit, and true religion are but one,
True just designs will merit honour still; Tho' some pervert 'em, and ev'n most have none. Who begins well, can scarcely finish ill. Who thinks what others never thought before, Unerring truth must guide your hand aright, Acts but just that his sons will act no more. Art without this is violence to sight.Yet on a time, when vig'rous thoughts demand, The first due postures of each figure trace Indulge a warmth, and prompt the daring hand : In swelling ont-lines with an easy grace. On purpose deviate from the laws of art,
But the prime person mostly will demand And boldly dare to captivate the heart;
Th’unweary'd touches of thy patient hand : Breasts warm'd to rapture shall applaud your fire, There thought, and boldness, strength, and art May disapprove you, but shall still admire.
conspire, The Grecian artist at one dash supply'd The critic's judgment, and the painter's fire : What patient touches, and slow art deny'd. It lives, it moves, it swells to meet the eye: So when pale Florio in the gloomy grove Behind, the mingling groupes in softer shadows Sits sadly musing on the plagues of love,
die. When hopes and fears distract his tim'rous mind, Never with self-design your merits raise, And fancy only makes the uymph unkind: Nor let your tongue be echo to your praise. Desp'rate at last he rushes from the shade, To wiser heads commit such points as these, By force and warm address to win the maid: A modest blush will tell how much they please. His brisk attack the melting nymph receives In days of yore, a prating lad, they say, With equal warmth, he presses, she forgives; Met glorious Reubens journeying on the way: One moment crowns whole tedious years of pain, Sneering, and arch he shakes his empty head, And endless griefs, and health consum'd in vain. Prior half-learn'd boys will talk a Solon dead)
Of ev'ry beauty that conspires to charm "Your servant, good sir Paul,why,what, the devil, Man's nicer judgmeut, and his genius warm, The world to you is more than fairly civil; To just invention be the glory giv’n,
No life, no gusto in your pieces shine, A particle of light deriv'd from Heav'n.
Without decorum, as without designUonumber'd rules t improve the gift are shown Sedate to this the Heav'n-born artist smiled, By ev'ry critic, to procure it, none.
“ Nor thine, nor mine to speak our praise, my Some colours often to the rest impart
child! New graces, more thro' happiness, than art. Fach shall expose his best to curious eyes, This, nicely study'd, will your fame advance, And let th’impartial world adjust the prize." The greatest beauties seldom come by chance. Let the soft colours sweeten and unite
Some gaze at ornament alone, and then To one just form, as all were shade, or light. So value paint, as women value nien.
Nothing so frequent charms th’admiring eres It matters nought to talk of truth, or grace, As well tim'd fancy, and a sweet surprise. Religion, genius, customs, time, and place. So when the Grecian 13 labour'd to disclose So judge the vain, and young; nor envy we: His nicest art, a mimic lark arose: They cannot think indeed—but they may see. The fellow-birds in circles round it play'd,
Knew their own kind, and warbled to a shade.
а 11 Two engravers, famous for their prints copied from Raphael and Le Brun.
is See Pliny's Natural History, lib. 35. cap. 12 Alluding to Hollar's Etchings in the Mo
So Vandervaart in later times excell'd,
Yet ah, how soon the casual bliss decays, And nature liv'd in what our eyes beheld. How great the pains, how transient is the praise! He too can oft (in optics deeply read)
Language, frail How'r, is in a moment lost, A noon-day darkness o'er his chamber spread: '4 | (That only pruduct human wit can boast) The transient objects sudden as they pass Now gay in youth, its early honours rise, O'er the small convex of the visual glass, Now haled, curst, it fades away, and dies. Transferr'd from thence by magic's pow'rful call, Yet verse first rose to soften human kind, Shine in quick glories on the gloomy wall; To mend their manners, and exalt their mind. Groves, mountains, rivers, men surprise the See, savage beasts stand list’ning to the lay, sight,
(wavy light. And men more furious, and more wild than they; Trembles the dancing world, and swims the Ev'n shapeless trees a second birth receive, Each varying figure in due place dispose is,
Rocks move to form, and statues seem to live. These bold'y heighten, touch but faintly those. Immortal Homer felt the sacred rage, Contiguous objects place with judgment nigh, And pions Orpheus taught a barb'rous age; Bach due proportion swelling on the eye.
Succeeding painters thence derivd their light, Remoter views insensibly decay,
And durst no inore than those vouchsaf'd to write, Ant lights, and shadows sweetly drop away.
At last t' adorn the gentler arts, appears In bluish white the farthest mo:10ts arise,
Ulustrious Zenxis from a length of years. Steal from the eye, and melt into the skies. Parrhasius' hand with soft’ning strokes exprest Hence sacred domes in length’ning ailes extend, The nervous motions, and the folded vest: Round columns swell, and rising arches bend : Pregnant of life his rounded figures rise, Obliquer views in side-long vistas glance, With strong relievo swelling on the eyes. And bending grores in fancy seem to dance. Evenor bold, with fair Apelles came, Two eqral lights descending from the sky, And happy Nicias crown'd with deathless fame. O'erpow'r each other, and confuse the eye. At length fro'n Greece, of impious aruns afraid,
The greatest pleasures tire the most, and such Painting withdrew, and sought th' Italian shade; Still end in vices if enjoy'd too much.
What tiine each science met its due regard, Tho' painters often to the shades retire,
And patrons took a pleasure to reward. Yet too long ease but serves to quench the fire. But ah, how soon must glorious times decay, Wing'd with new praise, methinks they boldly One transient joy, just kuown, and spatch'd O'er airy Alps, and seem to touch the sky. [Ay
away! Still true to fame, here well-wrought busts de. By the saine foes, which Painting shunn'd before, High turrets nod, and arches sink away. (cay, | Ev'n here she bleeds, and arts expire once more. Ev’n the bare walls, whose breathing figures Ease, lust, and pleasures shake a feeble state, glow'd
Gothic invasions, and domestic hate; (sume, With each warın stroke that living art bestow'd, Time's slow decays, what these ev'n spare, conOr slow decay, or hostile time invades,
And Rome lies bury'd in the depths of Rome ! And all in silence the fair fresco fades,
Long slumber'd Painting in a stupid trance Each image yet in fancy'd thoughts we view, Of heavy zeal, and monkish ignorance : And strong idea forms the scene a-new:
(When faith itself for mere dispute was giv'n, Delusive, she, Paulo's free stroke supplies, (eyes. Subtile was wise, and wranglers went to Heav'n.) Revives the face, and points th' enlighưning l 'Till glorious Cimabue 16 restor'd her crown,
'Tis thought each science, but in part, can And dipp'd the pencil, studious of renown. A length of toils for human life at 'most: [boast | Masaccio taught the finish'd piece to live, (So vast is art!) if this remark prove true,
And added ev'ry grace of perspective. 'Tis dang'rous sure to think at once of two, Exact correctness Titian's hand bestow'd, And hard to judge if greater praise there be
And Vinci's stroke with living labour glow'd. To please in painting, or in poetry;
Next Julio rose, who ev'ry language knew, Yet-Painting lives less injur'd, or confin'd, Liv'd o'er each age, and look'd all nature True to th' idea of the master's mind :
through. In ev'ry nation are her beauties known,
In happy Faulo strength and art conspire, In ev'ry age the language is her own:
The Graces please us, and the Muses fire. Nor time, nor change diminish from her fame; Each nobler secret others boast alone, Her charms are universal, and the same.
By curious toil Caracci made his own : 0, could such blessings wait the poet's lays, Raphael's nice judgment, Angelo's design, New beauties still, and still eternal praise ! Correggio's warınth, and Gu do's pleasing line. Ev'n though the Muses ev'ry strain inspire,
Thrice g'orions times, when ev'ry science charms, Exalt his voice, and animate his lyre:
When rapture lifts us, and religion warms !
A sbriller consort aids the notes below;
Above, around the pictur'd saints appear, 14 This practice is of no late invention. Bap- And listning seraphs smile and bend to hear. tista Poria, who flourished about the year 1500, Thence l’ainting, by some happy genius led, gives an ingenious account of it in his Natural O'er the cold North in slow approaches spread. Magic, lib. 17. How useful this may be to Ev'n Britain's isle, that blush'd with hostile gore, young painters, is not my province to determine. Receiv'd her laws, unknown to yield before; Is Singula quæque, locum tencant sortita decenter.
16 Giovanni Cimabue, born at Florence in the Hoc amat obscurum, vult hoc sub luce videri. year 1240. He was the person who revived paint.
orat. / ing after its unfortunate extirpation.
Relenting now, her savage herces stand,
of celebration, when Cydippe was seized with And melt at ev'ry stroke frim Reubens' hand. a violent fever.' Acontius writes to her, he Still in his right the graceful Jervas sways,
reminds her of a former solemn obligation, and Sacred to beauty, and the fair one's praise,
artfully insinuates that her distemper is inWhose breathing paint another life supplies, flicted as a just punishment from Diana, And calls new wonders forth from Mordaunt's eyes.
Once more, Cydippe, all thy fears remove, And Thornhill, gen'rous as his art, design'd 'Tis now too late to dread a cheat in love. At once to profit, and to please mankind. Those rosy lips, in accents half divine, Thy doine, O Paul's, which heav'nly views adorn, Breath'd the soft promise in the Delian shrine; Shall guide the hands of painters yet unborn;
Dear awful oath! enough Cydippe swore, Each melting stroke shall foreign eyes engage,
No human ties can bind a virgin more. And shine unrival'd through a future age. So may kind Heav'n attend a lover's pray'r, Hail happy artists! in eternal lays
Soften thy pains, and comfort my despair. The kindred-muses shall record your praise; See, the warm blush your modest cheeks inflame; Whose heav'nly aid inspir'd you first to rise, Yet is there cause for anger or for shame! And fix'd your fame immortal in the skies; Recal to mind those tender lines of love, There sure to last, 'till Nature's self expires, Deny you cannot-tho' your heart disprove, Increasing still, and crown'd with clearer fires : Still must I waste in impotent desires, High-rais'd above the blasts of public breath, And only hope revive the fainting fires ? The voice of hatred, and the rage of death. Yet did'st thou promise to be ever mine
Ah, thus, for ever may my numbers shine, A conscious borroar seem'd to shake the shrine, Bold as your thoughts, but easy as your line ! The pow'r consenting bow'd; a beam of light Then might the Muse to distant ages live, Flash'd from the skies, and made the temple Contract new beauty, and new praise receive:
bright. Fresh strength, and light ev'n tiine itself bestow, Ah! then Cydippe, dry thy precious tears: Soften each line, and bid the thought to glow; The more my fraud, the more my love appears. (Pame's second life) whose lasting glory fears Lore ever-watchful, ev'n by naiure charms; Nor change, nor envy, nor devouring years. Inflames the modest, and the wise disarms; Then should these strains to Pembroke's hands Fair yet dissembling, pleasing but to cheat be borne
With tender blandishment, and soft deceit, Whom native graces, gentle arts adorn,
Kind speaking motions, melancholy sighs, Honour unshaken, piety resign’d,
Tears that delight, and eloquence of eyes. A love of learning, and a gen'rous mind.
Love first the treach'rous dear design inspir'd. Yet if by chance, enamour'd of his praise, My hopes exalted, and my genius fir'd: Some nobler bard shall rise in future days, Ah! sure I cannot-must not guilty prove; (When from his Wilton walls the strokes decay, Deceit itself is laudable in love! And all art's fair creation dies away:
Once more inspir’d such tender lines I send, Or solid statues, faithless to their trust,
See, my hand trembles lest my thoughts offende In silence sink, to mix with vulgar dust;) Heroes in war innam'd by beauty's eharms, Ages to come shall Pembroke's fame adore, Tear the sad virgin from her parents arms; Pear to the Muse, 'till Homer be no more. I too, like these, feel the fierce flames of love,
Yet check my rage, and modestly reprove.
Ah,teach me, Heav'n, some language to persuade, ACONTIUS TO CYDIPPE.
Some other vows to bind the faithless maid ; .
O Love all-eloquent, you only know
To touch the soul with elegies of woe!
If treach’ry fail, by force I urge my right,
Sheath'd in rough armour, formidably bright: In a religious assembly at the temple of Diana in So Paris snatch'd his Spartan bride away,
Delos, Acontius was much enamoured with A half denying, half consenting prey; Cydippe, a lady of remarkable wit and 'beau- I too resolve-whate'er the dangers be, ty. Besides this, her fortune and family for death is nothing when compar'd to thee. were much above his own : which made him Were you less fair, I then might guiltless prove, solicitous how to discover his passion in a And moderate the fury of my love; successful manner. At last he procured a very But ah! those charms for ever must inspire : beautiful apple, upon which he wrote a dys- Each look, each motion sets my soul on fire. tic to this purpose, “ I swear by chaste Diana Heav'n's with what pleasing ecstasies of pain I will for ever be thy wife." So soon as he Trembling I gaze, and watch thy glance in vain. had written it, he threw the apple directly at How can I praise those golden curls that deck the feet of Cydippe, who imagining nothing of Each glowing cheek, or wave around thy nečka ale deceit, took it up, and having read the in- Thy swelling arms, and forehead rising fair, scription, found herself obliged by a solemn Thy modest sweetness, and attractive air ; oath to marry Acontius. For in those times Adjoin to these a negligence of grace, all oaths which were made in the temple of A winning accent, and enchanting face. Diana were esteemed inviolable. Some time Dear matchless charms! I cease to name the rest, afterwards, her father, who knew nothing of Nor wonder thou that love inflames my breast, what had happened, espoused her to another Since all alike to Hymen's altars bend, Jorer. The marriage was just upon the point Ah, bless at once the lover, and the friend.
Let envy rage, and intrest disapprove,
Some faint excuse he raises, to detain Envy and int' rest must submit to love.
Thy swelling arm, and press the beating vein: By pray’rs and vows Hesione was won
Now o'er thy neck his glowing fingers rove, To share the joys of hostile Telamon.
Too great a pleasure for so mean a love! Soft gen'rous pity touch'd the captive dame Villain beware! the sacred nymph resign, Who arm'd Achilles with a lover's flame. Avoid, detest her, dread whate'er is mine; To bless the wretched, shows a soul divine Elsewhere a lover's preference I give, Be erer angry—but be ever mine.
But cease to rival here, or cease to live. Yet can no pray’rs thy firm resentment move?
The vows you claim by right of human laws, Wretch that I was so ill to fix my love!
At best but serve to vindicate my cause.
To thee alone by duty is she kind;
First weigh the crime, the vengeance next explore, And lifted hands, and supplicating eyes.
The father promis'd, but the daughter swore : Then wilt thou say (for pity sure must move
That merely vain on human faith relies ; A virgin's breast) " How patient is his love!
But this obtests the sanction of the skies. Ev'n my heart trembles, as his tears I see;
Here cease my woes--ah, whither am I born, The youth who serves so well, is worthy me.” A woman's triump!), and a rival's scorn? Still must I then in sad destruction moan? Vain are my vows, unbeeded is my pray'r, My cause unheeded, and my grief unknown. The scatt'ring winds have lost 'em all in air; Ah, 10—Acontius cannot write in vain :
Yet think Cydippe, e'er thy lorer dies ! Sure er'ry wretch has licence to complain !
Banish that wretch for ever from thy eyes; Bat if you triumph in a lover's woe,
Scorn, envy, censures are conferr'd on me, Remember still Diana is your foe:
And pain,--and death is all he brings to thee. Diana listen'd to the vows you made,
Gods! may some vengeance crimes like these atong, And trembled at the change her eyes survey'd.
And snatch his life, to mediate for thy own! Ah, think, repent, while yet the time is giv'n,
Nor think to please avenging Cynthia's eyes Pierce is the vengeance of neglected Heav'n!
With streams of blood in holy sacrifice: By Dian's hand the Phrygian matron fell,
Heav'n claims the real, not the formal part, Bent with her race,an early shade to Hell. A troubled spirit, and repenting heart. Chang'd to a stag, Acteon pour'd away,
For ease, and health, the patient oft requires In the same morn the chaser and the prey.
The piercing steel, and burns alive in fires; Althea rag'd with more than female hate, Not so with you-ah, but confirm the vow! And hurl'd into the flames the brand of fate. One look, one promise can restore thee now; Like these offensive, punish'd too like these,
Again thy smiles eternal joys bestow, Hear'n blasts thy joys, and heightens the disease. And thy eyes sparkle, and thy blushes glow, Nor think Cydippe, (as my fears foresee)
Suppose from me for ever you remove, A thought unworthy of thyself, or me!
Once must you fall a sacrifice to love; Think not I frame this seeming truth, to prove
And then, ah, then will angry Cynthia close Thy stern disdain, a pious fraud in love ;
Thy wakeful eyes, or ease a matron's throes ? Rather than so, I yet abjure thy charms,
Yet wilt thou ever find a cause for shame? And yield thee, scornful, to another's arms !
No sure a mother cannot, must not blamc. Alas, for this pale sickness haunts thy bed,
Tell her the vow, the place, the sacred day And shooting aches seem to tear thy head;
I gaz'd on thee, and gaz'd my heart away: A sudden vengeance waits thy guilty loves;
Then will she surely say (if e'er she knew Absent is Hymen, Dian disapproves.
But half that tender love I feel for you) Think then, repent-recal the parting breath Ah, think Cydippe, and his consort be; O'er thy lips hov'ring in the hour of death. The youth who pleas'd Diana, pleases me !" See, on thy cheeks the fading purple dies,
Yet if she asks (as women oft inquire) And shades of darkness settle on thy eyes.
Tell her my life, my nation, and my sire: But whence, ye pow'rs, or wherefore rose that Not void of youthful vanities I came, pray'r?
Nor yet inglorions in the world of fame; Still must I mourn in absence, or despair ;
From ancient race I drew my gen'rous blood, Forcd, if she dies, the promise to resign
Where Cea's isle o'erlooks the watry food : Evin if she lives, I must not call her mine! Add, that I study ev'ry art to please,
Like some pale ghost around thy house I rove, Blest in my genius, born to live at ease. Now burn in rage, and now relent with love:
Wit, merit, learning cannot fail to move, A thousand needless messages I make,
And all those dearer blessings lost in love! A thousand mournful speeches give, and take. Ah ! had you never sworn,'t were hard to chuse O that my skill the sov’reign virtues knew
A love like mine and will you now refuse? Of ev'ry herb that drinks the early dew,
In midnight dreains when wakeful fancy keeps Then might I hear thy moans, thy sickness see,
Its dearest thoughts, and ev'n in slumber weeps, Nor were it sure a crime to gaze on thee.
Diana's self these mournful strains inspir'd, Perhaps ev'n now, (as fear foresees too well) And Cupid when I wak'd, my genius fir'd. The wretch I curse, detest, avoid like Hell,
Methinks, ev'n now, his piercing arrows move Beside thee breathes alove-dejected sigh,
My tender breast, and spread the pains of love." And marks the silent glances of thy eye.
Like me beware, unhappy as thou art !
Direct at thee Diana aims her dart
To drink the blood that feeds thy faithless heart