Say, father Thames, for thou haft seen
Full many a sprightly race,
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arms, the glaffy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chace the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?
While fome on earneft buf'nefs bent
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainft graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry :
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffeff'd;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day the easy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No fenfe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:
Yet fee, how all around 'em wait
The minifters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, shew then where in ambush ftand, To feize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them they are men!
Thefe shall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful anger, pallid fear,
And shame that skulks behind;
Or pining love shall waste their youth,
Or jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly knaws the fecret heart;
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless despair,
And forrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this shall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy.
The ftings of falfehood thofe shall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madness laughing wild
Amid feverest woe.
Lo! in the vale of years, beneath A grifly troop, are seen
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That ev'ry labouring finew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-consuming age.
To each his fuff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate!
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would deftroy their paradise,
No more-where ignorance is blifs,
Tis folly to be wife.
WHAT dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rife from trivial things,
I fing-This verse to CARYL, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:
Slight is the fubject, but not fo the praife,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays.
Say what ftrange motive, Goddefs! could compel
A well-bred Lord t'affault a gentle Belle ?
O fay what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
In tasks fo bold, can little men engage,
And in foft bofoms dwells fuch mighty rage?
Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And ope'd thofe eyes that must eclipse the day:
Now lap-dogs gave themselves the rouzing shake,
And sleepless lovers' just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung
the bell, the flipper knock'd the ground,
And the prefs'd watch return'd a filver found.
Belinda ftill her downy pillow prest,
Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy reft:
'Twas He had fummon'd to her filent bed
The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head,
A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau,
(That e'en in flumber made her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers faid, or feem'd to fay:
Fairest of mortals, thou diftinguish'd care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch thy infant thought,
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught;
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows feen,
The filver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins vifited by Angel-pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs;
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some fecret truths, from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give ?
The fair and innocent shall ftill believe.
Know then, unnumber'd fpirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky:
These, tho' unfeen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with fcorn two pages and a chair.
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