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No common weapon in their hands are found;
So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage,
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height
While thro’ the press enrag’d Thalesris flies,
She smild to see the doughty hero slain;
Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
See fierce Belinda at the Baron flies,
Now meet thy fate, incens’d Belinda cry’d,
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Boast not my fall (he cry’d) insulting foe!
Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. There heroes wits are kept in pond'rous vases, And beaux in fnull-boxes and tweezer-cases; There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearths with ends of ribbon bound; The courtier's promises, and fick man's pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a slea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuisry.
Τ Ι Ε Ι ο ο κ. But trust the Muse--she saw it upward rise, Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes: (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confefl'd to view) A sudden star it shot thro' liquid air, And drew behind a radiant train of hair. Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright, The heav'ns bespangling with disheveld light. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it sies, And pleas’d, pursue its progress thro' the skies.
This the beau-monde shall from the Mall survey, And hail with music its propitious ray: This the blest Lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, When next he looks thro’ Galilæo's eyes; And hence th’egregious wizard shall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair, Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. For, after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions lain, yourself shall die; IVhen those fair suns shall set, as fet they must, And all those tresles shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.
. OF CONTENTS.'
PAGE THE FIRST. THE deserted village.
PAGE 18. Av elegy written in a country churchyard.
PAGE 24. A monody on the death of his lady.
PAGE 36. A pastoral ballad, in four parts.
PAGE 46. VERSEs to the memory of Garrick.
PAGE 53. Ode to adversity.
PAGE 57. ODE on a distant prospect of Eton