While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre

[sire.

soft de

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, [before.
Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

$96. An Epistle from Mr. Philips to the
Earl of Dorset. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.
FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow,
From streams that northern winds forbid to flow,
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring,
Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing?
The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects that to verse invite.
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flow'ry plains, and silver-streaming floods,
By snow disguis'd, in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
Nogentle breathing breeze prepares the spring,
No birds within the desert region sing.
The ships, unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vast Leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day.
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
For many a shining league the level main,
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain:
There solid billows, of enormous size,
Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise,
And yet but lately have I seen, e'en here,
The winter in a lovely dress appear.
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose ;
And the descending rain unsullied froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view
The face of nature, in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry shrub and ev'ry blade of grass,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in
glass;

In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show,
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-sprung reeds the wat'ry marshes yield
Seem polish'd lances in a hostile field.
The flag, in limpid currents, with surprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise.
The spreading oak, the beech and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches shun,
That wave and glitter in the distant sun.
When, if a sudden gust of wind arise,
The brittle forest into atoms flies:

The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends;
Or, if a southern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country sees,

And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees.
Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and through delicious
meads;

While here enchanting gardens to him rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue;
And, while he thinks the fair illusion true,
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear,
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.

$97. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE. AH! what avails the lengthening mead, By Nature's kindest bounty spread

Along the vale of flow'rs!

Ah! what avails the darkening grove,
Or Philomel's melodious love,

That glads the midnight hours!
For me, alas! the god of day
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn spray,
Nor night her comfort brings:
I have no pleasure in the rose;
For me no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela sings.

Adown yon hillock's verdant side,
See how the sturdy peasants stride

In cheerful ign'rance blest!
Alike to them the rose or thorn,
Alike arises every morn,

By gay contentment drest.
Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Or gives spontaneous, or denies,

Her choice divinely free :
She visits oft the hamlet cot,
When Want and Sorrow are the lot
Of Avarice and me.

But see-or is it Fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celestial gleam

Shot sudden through the groves;
Behold, behold, in loose array,
Euphrosyne, more bright than day,

More mild than Paphian doves!
Welcome, oh welcome, Pleasure's queen!
And see, along the velvet green

With scatter'd flow'rs they fill the air;
The jocund train advance:
The wood-nymph's dew-bespangled hair
Plays in the sportive dance.

Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven,
When to the feeling wretch is given
A soul alive to joy!
Joys fly with every hour away,
And leave th' unguarded heart a prey
To cares that peace destroy.

And see, with visionary haste
(Too soon) the gay delusion past,
Reality remains!

Despair has seiz'd my captive soul;
And horror drives without control,
And slackens still the reins.

Ten thousand beauties round me throng;
What beauties, say, ye nymphs, belong
To the distemper'd soul?

I see the lawn of hideous dye;
The towering elm nods misery;
the waters roll.

With groans

Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Persia's looms,

Ye were for misery made.—
'Twas thus, the Man of Sorrow spoke;
His wayward step then pensive took
Along th' unhallow'd'shade.

$98. Monody to the Memory of a Young Lady
SHAW

YET do I live? Oh how shall I sustain
This vast unutterable weight of woe?
This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain.
Or all the complicated ills below?
She, in whose life my hopes were treasur'd all,
Is gone for ever Hed-

My dearest Emma's dead;

These eyes,

these tear swoln eyes beheld her fall. Ah no-she lives on some far happier shore, She lives-but (cruel thought!) she lives for me

no more.

1, who the tedious absence of a day [sight;
Remov'd, would languish for my charmer's
Would chide the lingering moments for delay,
And fondly blame the slow return of night;
How, how shall I endure
(O misery past a cure!)
Hours, days, and years, successively to roll,
Nor ever more behold the comfort of my sou!?
Was she not all my fondest wish could frame?
Did ever mind so much of heaven partake?
Did she not love me with the purest flame?
And give up friends and fortune for my sake?
Though mild as evening skies,

With downcast, streaming eyes,
Stood the stern frown of supercilious brows,
Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her

Vows.

Come then, some Muse, the saddest of the train
(No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays),
Teach me each moving melancholy strain,

And oh discard the pageantry of phrase:
Ill suits the flow'rs of speech with woes like mine!
Thus, haply, as I paint

The source of my complaint,

My soul may own th' impassion'd line:
A flood of tears may gush to my relief,

tell;

Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear
To wound my ears with the sad tales you
"How good she was, how gentle, and how fair!'
In pity cease-alas! I know too well
How in her sweet expressive face

Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,

Of manners most engaging, most refin'd!

No piteous object could she see,

But her soft bosom shar'd the woe,
While smiles of affability

Endear'd whatever boon she might bestow.
Whate'er th' emotions of her heart,
Still shone conspicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to disguise:

And, oh the boast how rare!
The secret in her faithful breast repos'd
She ne'er with lawless tongue disclos'd,

In secret silence lodg'd inviolate there.
Oh feeble words-unable to express
Her matchless virtues, or my own distress!
Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe,
With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man-
kind,

Why (cruel!) strike this deprecated blow,

And leave such wretched multitudes behind?
Hark! groans come wing'd on ev'ry breeze!

The sons of grief prefer their ardent vow,
Oppress'd with sorrow, want, or dire disease,
And supplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain-perverse, still on th' unweeting head
'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to shed;
Hope's infant blossoms to destroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.
But oh, fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
When Virtue shall renounce thy pow`r;
When thou no inore shalt blot the face of day,
Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid sway.
Alas the day!—where'er I turn my eyes,

Some sad memento of my loss appears;
I fly the fatal house-suppress my sighs,
Resolv'd to dry my unavailing tears:

But, ah! in vain-no change of time or
[place
The memory can efface

Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air,
Now lost; and nought remains but anguish
and despair.

Where were the delegates of Heav'n, oh where,
Appointed Virtue's children safe to keep?
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,

She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep:
Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd,
To see or force th' endearing smile,
My sorrows to beguile,

When Torture's keenest rage she prov'd;
Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a
husband's heart.

And from my swelling heart discharge this load How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,

of grief.

When, feeling Death's resistless pow'r,

My hand she press'd, wet with her falling tears,
And thus, in falt'ring accents, spoke her fears:
"Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er,
"And we must part, alas! to meet no more!
“But oh! if c'er thy Emma's name was dear,
"If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd
66 ear;

"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
"Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune
"smil'd in vain ;

"If it has been my sole endeavour still
"To act in all obsequious to thy will;
"To watch thy very smiles, thy wish to know,
"Then only truly blest when thou wert so;
"If I have doted with that fond excess,
"Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less;
"If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind
"To the dear lovely babe I leave behind."
"When time my once-lov'd memory shall efface,
"Some happier maid may take thy Emma's
"place,

"With envious eyes thy partial fondness see,
"And hate it, for the love thou bor'st to me:
"My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears;
"But one word more I cannot bear thy tears-
"Promise-and I will trust thy faithful vow
" (Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true,)
"That to some distant spot thou wilt remove
"This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love,

Where safe thy blandishments it may partake,
"And, oh! be tender, for its mother's sake.
"Wilt thou?-

"I know thou wilt-sad silence speaks assent, "And, in that pleasing hope, thy Emma dies

"content."

I, who with more than manly strength have bore
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Sustain the firmness of my soul no more,
But sink beneath the weight:
[day
Just Heav'n! I cried, from memory's earliest
No comfort has thy wretched suppliant
known;

Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some saving truth thy roving soul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views below,
And point out bliss beyond misfortune's
reach :

To show that all the flatt'ring schemes of joy,
Which tow'ring Hope so fondly builds in air,

Misfortune still, with unrelenting sway,
Has claim'd me for her own.
But oh! in pity to my grief, restore
This only source of bliss; I ask—I ask no more-
Vain hope-th' irrevocable doom is past,
E'en now she looks-she sighs her last-
Vainly I strive to stay her fleeting breath,
And, with rebellious heart, protest against her
death.

When the stern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow,
With impious wish to tear her from the skies,
How curse my fate in bitterness of woe!
But whither would this dreadful phrensy
Fond man, forbear,
[lead?
Thy fruitless sorrow spare, [creed;
Dare not to ask what Heaven's high will de-
In humble rev'rence kiss th' afflictive rod,
And prostrate bow to an offended God.

One fatal moment can destroy,

And plunge th' exulting maniac in despair.
Then, oh! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy present loss-haply thy future gain;

Nor let thy Emma die in vain :
Time shall administer its wonted balm, [calm.
And hush this storm of grief to no unpleasing

Thus the poor bird, by some disastrous fate

Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,
Caught, and imprison'd in a lonely cage,
But finding all its efforts weak and vain,
Flutters a while, and spends its little rage:

No more it pants and rages for the plain;
Moping a while, in sullen mood

Droops the sweet mourner-but ere long
Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,
Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case,
And meditates the song:
And with its plaintive warblings saddens all
the place.

Forgive me, Heaven,-yet, yet the tears will
flow,

To think how soon my scene of bliss is past!
My budding joys, just promising to blow,
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
All nipp'd and wither'd by one envious blast!

Move heavily along; [cund song?
Where's now the sprightly jest, the jo-
Time creeps, unconscious of delight:
How shall I cheat the tedious day;
And oh- -the joyless night!
Where shall I rest my weary head?

How shall I find repose on a sad widow'd bed?
Come, Theban drug*, the wretch's only aid,

To my torn heart its former peace restore;
Thy votary, wrapp'd in thy Lethean shade,

A while shall cease his sorrows to deplore:
Haply, when lock'd in sleep's embrace,
Again I shall behold my Emma's face,
Again with transport hear

Her voice soft whispering in my ear ;
May steal once more a balmy kiss,
And taste at least of visionary bliss.

But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my shadowy schemes of bliss depose,
Will tear the dear illusion from my sight,

And wake me to the sense of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I stray,
Alas! what pleasures now can these convey?
Her lovely form pursues where'er I go,

And darkens all the scene with woe.
By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more,
• Laudanum.

§ 100. An Ode to Narcissa.
THY fatal shafts unerring move;
I bow before thine altar, Love!
feel thy soft resistless flame
Glide swift through all my vital frame!
For while I gaze my bosom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of transport whelm my soul!
My falt ring tongue attempts in vain
In soothing murmurs to complain;
bearly tongue some secret magic ties,
My murmurs sink in broken sighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the silent tear;
Unheard I mourn, unknown I sigh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!

+ The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz.