A collection of poems and translations: in English and Latin. By Thomas Hull.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- To the RIGHT HONORABLE LORD BOYD.

- [tothereader]

- LIST OF THE SUBSCRIBERS.

- ODE to EXPECTATION.

- SONG.

- Imitation of Part of the 3d Epode of Horace. Horrida Tempestas Coelum contraxit, &c.

- SONG, to Miss K— B— in Dublin.

- To a Friend on his Marriage.

- ODE.

- SONG of VERTUMNUS imitated. What beauteous Scenes inchant my Sight, &c.

- A PARAPHRASE on PSALM 46.

- PASTORAL.

- The Tenth ODE of the second Book of HORACE, imitated. Rectius vives, Licini, &c.

- A CARD to VENUS. In imitation of the Thirtieth ODE, of the first Book of HORACE. O Venus, Regina Cnidi &c.

- A TRANSLATION. As Chloe on Flowers reclin'd o'or the Stream, &c.

- To AMASIA, With a FAN, whereon was represented CUPID with his Bow bent, and APOLLO behind directing him where to shoot.

- To the SAME.

- ODE to CUPID. Sent to CLEORA, on New-Years-Day, with WALLER's Poems.

- PSALM 57, PARAPHRAS'D.

- LAVINIA to AEGISTHUS.

- EPITAPH.

- To ASPASIA, A BIRTH-DAY ODE.

- To the SAME. A NEW-YEAR'S ODE.

- AMELIA to EUCRATES, While on her Death-Bed.

- BELVIDERE, (a POEM) addrest to ETHELINDA.

- [note]

- ERRATUM.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

FINIS.

A COLLECTION OF POEMS and TRANSLATIONS, In ENGLISH and LATIN.

By THOMAS HULL.

Agedum! pauca accipe—

Primùm ego me illorum, dederim quibus esse Poëtis,

Excerpam numero: neque enim concludere versum,

Dixeris esse satis; neque, si quis seribat, uti nos,

Sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse Poëtam.

HOR. Sat. iv. Lib. 1. L. 38.

—For my own Part,

I claim no Portion of the Poet's Art;

'Tis not enough to close the flowing Line,

And in ten Syllables your Sense confine,

Or write in meer prosaic Rhimes like me,

That can deserve the Name of Poetry.

FRANCIS's Transl.

BATH: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR; AND SOLD BY HIM AT TUCKER'S CHINA SHOP, IN THE CHURCH-YARD; AND MR. LEAKE, AND MR. FREDERICK, BOOK-SELLERS; STEPHEN MARTIN, PRINTER: AND MR. PALMER, AND MR. WARD, BOOKSELLERS, IN BRISTOL.

To the RIGHT HONORABLE LORD BOYD.

MY LORD,

IT has been ever advanced by all who have understood the World, that a great Man never distinguishes himself so much as in his Behavior and Countenance shewn to Inferiors; if so, Your LORDSHIP is certainly the most conspicuous Instance of the Truth of this Maxim, in thinking me worthy YOUR least Notice.

THE very grateful Sense I have of the Honor done me herein, I can never be able to express. Yet my utmost Pride, shall not influence me to run into the general Stile of Dedicators, in attemping an Encomium on YOUR LORDSHIP's Virtues. YOUR public Goodness cannot but be injured by such a Pen as mine; and YOUR private is surely sufficiently manifested, in condescending to smile on a young Writer, unknown to Merit as to Fame.

THE Publication of my Productions can, I am very certain, boast no Value, but what arises from YOUR LORDSHIP's having set YOUR Stamp on them; Yet whatever Reception they meet from the Public, the utmost Poignancy of Censure I should always think amply over-ballanced by the Pride and Pleasure of YOUR Permission, to subscribe myself, with the utmost Respect,

MY LORD,
Your LORDSHIP's Most obliged and obedient Servant, Thomas Hull.

THERE are two Kinds of Poetry to which no PREFACE is necessary; viz. extreme good, and extreme bad. The first requires none, and the last deserves none: For the latter Reason I must entreat my very patient Readers to take Notice that this is an APOLOGY, which I think indispensibly necessary, to obviate two Objections.

IN the first Place, to those who may ask why I wrote, (and to be sure the Question is highly rational and palpable) I answer, to employ my leisure Hours in an Exercise which gives me Pleasure, and does no one else any Injury.—And I might, no doubt, have found many Methods of Pastime, that would not have amounted to so good a Purpose, as that of doing no Harm.

IN the second Place, to those who may ask why I published, (and, by the Bye, this is a Question more rational and palpable than the former) I answer that I had no other Means of convincing the World I ever employed my Time to any Purpose at all.

I am very sensible there may, and, certainly, will be several Witticisms, smart Strokes of Raillery, and Satirical Similies, on a raw, unfledg'd Poet; which indeed I could here insert, but that I would, by no Means, be so ill-manner'd to my Readers as to take the Words out of their Mouths, or prevent their having their Laugh out.

HOWEVER, to be serious, I cannot in Gratitude conclude this Address to the Public, without returning my best Thanks to my several Friends, who have so kindly contributed to the Publication of the ensuing trifling Performance. I have only to desire they will take Notice that the Paraphrase on the Tenth Ode of Horace, the Card to Venus, and Ode to Cupid are the Product of much better Pens than mine. My Reason for mentioning this is only to return their Authors Thanks for the Honor they have done me; and not to point out a Distinction, which must be so very obvious to every Capacity.

LIST OF THE SUBSCRIBERS.

A

- FRANCIS Aylmer, Esq of London

- Miss Atwood.

- Miss Molly Atwood.

- Mr. Axford.

- Mr. John Awsiter.

- Mrs. Anna Maria Awsiter.

- Mr. Hugh Asgill.

- Mr. Adamson

- Mrs. Austin.

- —Adolph, Esq

- Mr. Thomas Atkins, of Bristol

B

- The Hon. Mrs Byrne

- H B, Esq 2 Books

- Mrs. Butt

- Miss Mary Baker, a Books

- Mr. Belk

- Mr. Brooks, Musician

- Mrs Brown

- Mr. Boddely, Printer, 2 Books

- Miss Barton

- Mrs. Bishop

- Mr. Bawn, of Bristol,

- Mr. Bullman, ditto

- Mr. Best, ditto

- Mr. Berry

- Mr. Lewis Bull

- Mr. John Brooks.

- Mr. J. Bowzey, of Bristol

C

- Charles Chambers, Esq

- Mrs. Curtis, 2 Books

- Mrs. Clifton

- Miss—

- Miss Copley

- Mr. Richard Castle

- Mr. Crowley

- Mr. Francis Cooke

- Mr. Colleton

- Mr. Walter Clagget

- Mr. Crook

- Mr. Robert Collings, of Bristol

D

- Thomas Dawson, Esq

- Mrs. Dodwell

- Miss Davis

- —Douglass, Esq

- Miss Desmaret

- Mr. Donaldson

- Mr. Dalton

- Mrs. Duperrè

- •r. Dodd

- Mr. De Vic.

- Mr. T. Davis, of Bristol

- Mr. William Davis, of ditto

- Mr. Francis Daniell, of ditto

E

- —Eusden, Esq of London,

- Mrs. Ellison

- Mr. Este

- Miss Eyton

- Mrs. Elliott

- Mr. Elderton

- Miss Edgcombe.

- Mrs. Eyre

- Master Emlyn.

F

- George Forster, Esq

- Mrs. Ferrers, of London,

- Mrs. Fludyer

- Mrs. Clementine Ford

- Mr. Thomas Furnival

- Mr. Fowle

- Mr. Thomas Fitzmaurice

- Mr. Isaac Fawkes

- Mr. Frederick, Bookseller

- Miss Elizabeth Fisher.

- Mr. Edward Jacob, of Bristol

- Mr. J. Jeffen, of ditto

- Mr. G. Jones, of ditto

G

- —Grignion, Esq of London,

- —Gwyn, Esq ditto

- Mrs. Grant, 2 Books

- Mrs. Green

- Mr. William Glass

- Mr. Gates

- Mr. Goldney

- Mr. William Gurden

- Mr. Glover

- Mr. Thomas Girle, of Bristol

- Thomas Goy, Esq

- Luke Grant, Esq

H

- Francis Hayman, Esq of London

- Mr. James Hayward

- Mr. Hackett

- Mrs. Hopkins

- Miss Hall, 3 Books

- Miss Elizabeth Hippisley

- Mr. Hutchinson, Apothecary

- Miss Henshaw.

I

- Miss Susanna Maria Johnson

- Mr. Johnston, of Dublin

- Mr. Inglish

- Miss Sally Ibbott, 2 Books

- Mr. Irwin

- Mrs. Joynes.

K

- The Rev. Mr. Knipe

- Mr. Kendall

- Mr. Thomas King, 12 Books

- Mr. Richard Knowles

- Mr. William Keppel

- Mrs. Winnifred Kendall

- Mr. King, Coach-master

L

- Honorable Mr. Lambert

- Miss Lascelles, of London

- Mrs. Lawson, Ditto

- Miss Lowe

- Mrs. Lyons

- Mr. Linley

- Master Lambert

- Mr. Little

- Mrs. Lloyd

- Miss Laurence

- Mr. Leake, Bookseller

M

- —Macardell, Esq of London

- —Major, Esq Ditto

- —Moser, Esq Ditto

- Mr. Theodore Maurice, 6 Books

- Miss Anna Maria Morrison

- Mr. Miller

- Mr Moffatt, of Bristol

- Mrs. Mozeen

- Mr. Martin, sen. 2 Books

- Mr. Martin, jun. P•inter, 12 Books

- Mr. Mercy.

N

- —Neville, Esq

- —Newton, Esq of London

- Mr. Norris, Ditto

- Mrs. Nugent

- Mrs. Nicholls

- Mr. Nayler

- Miss Nicholson.

O

- Garton Orme, Esq

- Mrs. Oliver.

- Mr. Osborne

- Miss Ogilvie

P

- —Payne, Esq of London

- Capt. Parker

- Mr. Palmer

- Mrs. Elizabeth Price

- Mr. Philip Philips

- Mrs. Phillott

- Miss Phillott

- Master Joseph Phillott

- Master Charles Phillott

- Mr. Thomas Pennington, jun. of Bristol

- Mrs. Perkins.

- Mr. James Pardoe, of Bristol

- Mr. Benjamin Price, of ditto

Q

- Mr. Quelch.

R

- —Reynolds, Esq of London

- Mr. Roche

- Mrs. Richardson

- Mrs. Reynolds

- Mr. Richards

- Mr. Reseck

- Mr. Rotten

- Mr. John Ross, of Bristol

- Mrs. Rowley

- Mr. Racster, of Bristel

- Mr. Rawlinson, ditto.

S

- —Scott, Esq of London

- Miss Simpson

- Mr. Daniel Sullivan

- Mr. James Stewart, of Bradford

- Mr. Richard Stephens

- Mr. Samuel Stephens

- Miss Spry

- Mr. St. John Smith, of Bristol

- Mr. Stephenson

- Mr. P. Shelberry, of Bristol

- Mr. Smith.

- Miss Sainsbury

T

- —Toms, Esq of London

- Miss Towers of ditto

- Mr. Edward Thornton

- Mr. Joseph Terry

- Mr. Nicholas Tucker

- Mr. Thistlewait

- Mr. George Turton

- Mrs. Taylor.

- Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor

- Mr. John Thorne, of Bristol

W

- Patrick Wemys, Esq

- The Hon. Mrs. Wemys

- —Wale, Esq of London

- John Wood, Esq 6 Books

- Mr. Waker

- Mr. Thomas Walker

- Miss White

- Mr. Roger Watts, of Bristol

- Miss West

- Mr. Wilkinson.

- Master William Willmore

- Mr. John Weekes, of Bristol

Y

- —Yew, Esq of London

- Mr. Charles Yonge.

ODE to EXPECTATION.

LET others curse thy heavy Sway,

Of dull Suspence, and cold Delay;

Complain of Absence' ling'ring Pain,

And Hope, for Years indulg'd in vain,

To me, as thou wert wont, appear,

Tell me but that Amasia's near,

Fraught with the Prospect of that Blessing,

'Tis not expecting—but possessing.

COME, EXPECTATION! Haste to me,

Kind Parent of Credulity!

For ever put that Semblance on,

Appear like her, and her alone;

Before my Eyes her Image place,

Her Strength of Mind, her Bloom of Face:

Thine Aid will I for ay implore,

Thy Bounty bless, thy Pow'r adore.

WHAT could I not, with Patience, bear,

With Pleasure, while I wait for her!

No Grief could feel while she were nigh,

And Laughter wanton'd in her Eye;

Nor Pleasure know, estrang'd to Joys,

Whene'er I hear Amasia's Sighs;

Nor any, any Danger fear,

So great—as that of losing her.

YET it must be—I'm doom'd to part,

To tear her from my Eyes, my Heart;

My ev'ry Hope, each Wish resign,

And never, never call her mine.

—But is there none, no secret Way,

My Vows to waft, my Duty pay?

Friendship! Esteem! Can none of these

Instruct an artless Swain to please?

Yet robb'd of the sole Pow'r t'impart

The honest Meaning of my Heart,

How can I half its Feelings prove,

How? When I dare not mention Love?

YET fly, Despair! Suspence, begone!

Your sullen Empire I disown;

With Transport still I bow to thee,

Kind Parent of Credulity!

Benign, as erst, do thou appear,

And Hope, and certain Joy is near.

Haste, EXPECTATION, loveliest Friend,

Thy softest, sweetest Influence lend:

The anxious, Heart-expanding Sigh,

That rises when Amasia's nigh,

Which kindles all my Soul, to prove

Her Beauty's Force, the Pride of Love!

To view, to hear, to clasp her once again,

Were cheaply purchas'd with an Age of Pain.

SONG.

LONG at thy Altar, God of Love,

I paid a double Duty;

A Slave to Celia's Voice and Wit,

To Chloe's Taste and Beauty.

Fain would I fix my restless Heart,

While they, with awkward Feature,

Disguise in Affectation's Masque

The bounteous Gifts of Nature.

Celia, affecting Beauty's Grace,

Destroys her Sense and Spirit,

And Chloe's Charms, thro' fancy'd Wit,

Lose all their wonted Merit.

While in their native Beauties deckt,

I can love both,—or either,—

But thus in borrow'd Airs disguis'd,

I can be fond of neither.

Imitation of Part of the 3d Epode of Horace.
Horrida Tempestas Coelum contraxit, &c.

NOW wintry Blasts deform the Year—the Rain

Descends—fast falls the fleeting Snow;

Bleak thro' the Woods the North-Winds blow,

And Storms and Tempests vex the angry Main.

From these let us a Warning take,

And learn of Life the most to make,

While Youth, Health, Strength, and Jollity remain;

No more let sullen Thoughts o'er cast thy Brow,

But join, my Friend, the social Board,

Let Mirth fly round! Champagne's the Word!

When wrinkled Age appears, we'll sober grow.

SONG, to Miss K— B— in Dublin.

FAIRER than the op'ning Lillies,

Fresher than the Morning Rose,

Are the blooming Charms of Phyllis,

Richer Sweets does she disclose.

Long secure from Cupid's Power,

Soft Repose had lull'd my Breast,

'Till, in one short, fatal Hour,

She depriv'd my Soul of Rest.

Child of Pleasure and Vexation,

Fly, my Verse, and paint my Flame;

Whisper soft that tender Passion,

Which I must not, cannot name!

Lovely Fair, remove my Anguish,

Give my Soul her wonted Ease;

Since you've taught me how to languish,

Teach, oh! teach me how to please.

To a Friend on his Marriage.

Felices ter, & amplius,

Quos irrupta tenet Copula!

HORAT.

WHEN Dignity and Titles wed,

Shall Flatt'ry deck the bridal Bed?

When Hymen's Torch must blush for Shame,

That only Wealth inspires the Flame;

Or when the Muse on Beauty's pow'r

Attends, to grace a venal Hour,

To such shall she her Honors pay,

Yet none be found to grace this Day?

Shall no applauding Verse be read,

When Honesty and Goodness wed?

BE it then mine, and mine alone,

For once the nuptial Rites to crown!

Stranger to Flatt'ry, Lie, or Sneer,

My Commendation is sincere;

And sure the Verse you may commend,

Altho' the Poet be—a FRIEND.

PURSUE, blest Pair, the fond Regard,

Each other's Virtues to reward.

Eternal Joys shall on ye wait,

Unknown to Titles, Wealth, or State;

Now Titles, Wealth, and State shall bend,

O'ercome by Husband, Consort, Friend!

Such are the Titles that reward

Unspotted Truth, and firm Regard.

Wealth too your Blessings shall approve;

Undying Peace, immortal Love!

Such Wealth as this to ye is lent;

And when shall Love's rich Store be spent?

State too—the highest shall ye know,

VIRTUE—our highest State below!

To crown your Happiness, the Muse

With Wish sincere the Verse pursues.

"May Faith, Affection, and Esteem,

"Be ever your delighted Theme!

"May Satisfaction be your Bed,

"Content, a Pillow for the Head!

"While in each others Arms ye lie,

"May Love close up the slumb'ring Eye!

"And may each new-revolving Sun

"Improve the Bliss, which this begun!"

ODE.

YOUNG Corydon for lovely Phyllis burn'd,

The gen'rous Nymph his ardent Wailings mourn'd.

The nuptial Tye her warmer Thoughts confin'd;

Still some Emotions flutter'd in her Mind;

The wily Youth had touch'd her tender Breast,

When smiling soft the Swain she thus addrest.

Cease, fond Youth, no Pray'r shall move

My soften'd Soul to guilty Love:

Those passionate Complaints give o'er,

Comply—or ne'er behold me more.

My Rage yet Pity disapproves,

Some Pow'r o'ersways, but 'tis not Love's;

Be Passion lost in Friendship's Flame!

Approach me with that sacred Name,

And ev'ry virtuous Blessing claim.

Such kind Expressions, such endearing Terms

Who dares misconstrue what dire Lust alarms!

—The am'rous Youth her Fondness misapply'd:

Inflam'd with fierce Desire! And warmly sigh'd,

Friendship, alas, in Breasts like mine

Dominion ne'er can own:

Where rebel Love holds uncontroul'd

A firm, unshaken Throne;

Come, let me fold thee in my Arms,

Secure from ev'ry Eye;

Pour forth my Soul in Rapture's Heat,

And on thy Bosom die!

THE virtuous Nymph in conscious Grief and Fear

Mourn'd silently, yet dropt a speaking Tear.

Struck with Remorse, he saw the piercing Sign

Of Heav'n-born Innocence, and Truth divine.

Sorrow and Shame his erring Bosom stung,

And half-broke Accents faulter'd on his Tongue.

She saw with Pleasure his repentant Grief,

And thus bespoke, to give his Soul Relief.

How blest I am, no Tongue can prove,

In such superior Force to move,

And heal thy frantic Breast!

Such Virtue, Tenderness, and Truth,

What Pow'r could harm? (return'd the Youth)

He look'd, and sigh'd the rest.

Remorse and Wonder held them silent long;

Then Joy burst forth spontaneous in their Song.

Matchless the Youth, who, timely wise,

Can Passion's Faults retrieve!

Matchless the Fair, who kindly tries,

Those Errors to forgive!

Hence shall each meaner Bosom learn

How Virtue's Pow'r can move,

How infelt Goodness awes the Soul,

And Friendship conquers Love.

SONG of VERTUMNUS imitated.
What beauteous Scenes inchant my Sight, &c.

PULCHRA quae coram video & venusta!

Brachia expandens generosa vitis

Ecce quam forti placidoque nexu

Jungitur ulmo!

Umbra non ulmus sterilis videtur,

Vitis ast uvis onerata circum;

Verreret terram, nisi opem tulisse•,

Vitis et ipsa.

Te, Chloe, hoc utinam moveat jugali

Conjugem fidum sociare vinc'lo!

Quid ferant verò seniumque curaeque

Inspice cauta.

Nota sors felix, tibi sit voluptas

Nota, te exardet Deus ipse veris;

Proteget saltus virides Deus, qui

Praesidet anno.

Dum flagrant flammis alii caducis,

Illius constans amor usque durat;

Illius fidum repares amorem

Mutuo amore.

Nulla sic brumae, nivis atque dirae

Vis ferox veris minuet decorem;

Arbor et nullis violata ventis

Quaeque vigebit.

A PARAPHRASE on PSALM 46.

I.

BE Thou, O LORD, my Refuge in Distress,

My Stay in Trouble, and Support in Pain:

So shall Adversity's Assaults be less,

And hostile Arrows spend their Force in vain.

II.

What tho' the Earth from her Foundations rise,

The Hills upturn'd be cast into the Sea:

And Mountains shake to hear the Tempest's Voice,

Unmov'd I stand—my Trust I place in Thee.

III.

Tho' Ocean rage, and foaming Billows roar,

Secure, O Lord, thy great Tribunal's plac'd;

For, at thy Nod, the Billows swell no more,

The Earth is firm, the Mountains are at rest.

IV.

Terror, avaunt!—Danger is far from hence,

A guiltless Conscience forms it's own Reward;

The mighty Lord of Hosts is my Defence,

The God of Jacob my Retreat and Guard.

V.

Come, and behold the Wonders of his Hand,

Lo! now Destruction reigns, and Battle's Ire—

Now the War's husht—Spears break at his Command,

And Chariots crackle in consuming Fire.

VI.

Then free, my Soul, from Terror and Suspence,

Await with Patience the divine Award;

The mighty Lord of Hosts is thy Defence,

The God of Jacob thy Retreat and Guard.

PASTORAL.

I.

WHILE the clear Brook in prattling Murmurs play'd,

And Solitude adorn'd the pleasing Shade,

Blythe Corydon breath'd forth his glowing Joy—

Ye Swains, attend—thus sung the am'rous Boy.

II.

No more to Fancy's. Dreams the Notes belong,

Nor weak Ideas feebly tune my Tongue;

No more Invention's Aid the Muse requires,

Or faint Conception's momentary Fires;

III.

'Tis Gratitude inspires my ravish'd Heart,

And Virtue's Charms true Sentiments impart.

To my Amasia's Ear the Notes belong,

Sweet are the Strains, if she approve my Song.

IV.

How blest am I, to see the Nymph I love

List to my Converse, and my Flame approve!

Who scorns the Trifler's Praise, the Flatt'rer's Art,

Humbly content to take an honest Heart.

V.

The painted Rose, that blooms on Beauty's Face,

The damask Lip, and every specious Grace;

What solid Joys, alas, can these impart,

If unattended with a spotless Heart?

VI.

Wherefore did Heav'n the female Race supply

With each gay Lustre that attracts the Eye,

Unless the fair Appearance was design'd

The Habitation of a fairer Mind?

VII.

Is there, who doubts the Truth of what I say,

Who thinks all female Charms will soon decay?—

In sweet Amasia's Aspect let him see

What Beauty is, and Virtue ought to be.

VIII.

Behold the blooming Cheek! (O Joy to look!)

Has not the Rose her native Bed forsook?

—Then read her Mind—examine it with Care;

Say, is not ev'ry shining Virtue there?

IX.

Such are the Charms that in her Bosom shine,

Where Chastity and Truth, and Candour join;

Charms, that ne'er fade—but hourly will improve

Amasia's Charms—and who can blame my Love?

The Tenth ODE of the second Book of HORACE, imitated.
Rectius vives, Licini, &c.

I.

DEAR Friend, thy steddy Life must happiest prove,

If thou nor rashly tempt the angry Main;

Nor, when embark'd, each rising Gale can move

Thy purpos'd Soul to make the Port again.

II.

Whoe'er the golden Medium wisely keeps,

And timely flies Ambition's giddy State;

Exempt from sordid Want securely sleeps,

Exempt from envy'd Trappings of the Great.

III.

The Cloud-capt Tow'rs a wider Ruin spread,

The Pine full oft the Tempest's Rage endures;

And dreadful Lightnings blast the Hill's high Head,

From which, Humility the Vale secures.

IV.

When fickle Fortune smiles, the steady Mind

Still fears each Hour an adverse Stroke may bring;

Hopes, when she frowns, some happier Lot behind,

The Pow'r, who sends the Winter, sends the Spring.

V.

Tho' ruthless Fate reject our present Pray'rs,

It's stern Decrees in Time may milder grow—

Phoebus oft joins the Muses' sprightly Airs,

Nor always bends his pestilential Bow.

VI.

Boldly do thou, my Friend, with Heart prepar'd,

Stem the strong Current of Adversity:

But, when Prosperity's full Gales blow hard,

Reef, Reef betimes—nor trust the Fallacy.

A CARD to VENUS.
In imitation of the Thirtieth ODE, of the first Book of HORACE.
O Venus, Regina Cnidi &c.

COME Venus, come, and make us blest,

Mine, and my Chloe's welcome Guest!

What tho' thy Cyprus should repine,

While in our happy Seat you shine,

Our happy Seat shall grateful prove,

And Incense shall reward thy Love.

Haste, and bring thy am'rous Boy,

And with him each attendant Joy,

Youth, and her thousand Charms, that lye

In dimpled Cheek, or laughing Eye;

Wit, whom the Pow'r of Beauty moves,

And Beauty, which true Wit approves.—

W•••l make, if with this Train you come,

O• Ch••• 's House the Graces' Home.

A TRANSLATION.
As Chloe on Flowers reclin'd o'or the Stream, &c.

I.

FLORIBUS inclinans Fluvii sub Margine pictis,

Plorabat lachrymans Thyrsida maesta Chloe;

Distribuere •t•i Sertumque & ventus Odores,

Haud Requies Pectus Virginis ulla fovet.

II.

Cursu praecipiti fallax elabitur Amnis,

Et fluctus ripae vix tetigere torum;

Perfida blanditiis en! vafritreque decora,

Insidias referunt Flumina, Thyrsi, tuas.

III.

Qui leni nuper spirabat flamine Ventus,

Caecat nunc atris Imbribus, ecce, diem!

Leniter ut spirans, ut tempestate laborans,

Sic Thrysis placidus, sic rabieque tumens.

IV.

Floribus excerptis, gemmáto Germine pictis,

Virginis ante pedes, heu! decus omne perit;

Thyrisida disjunctum referunt, cum perdita forma est,

Praesentemque refert Thyrsida forma recens.

V.

Expes, ecce, Chloe rabie jam concita surgit,

A pedibusque furens languida serta jacit;

Dimittit fluvio lachrymas, suspiria Ventis,

Et temere exclamat "perfide Thyrsi, vale!"

VI.

Ira tamen qualis!—Thyrsis quando obvius ibat,

Dispulit en! nubes Solis Imago micans!

Dispulit en! Phoebus languorem floribus!—iram,

Adveniens Thyrsis dispulit atque Chloes.

To AMASIA, With a FAN, whereon was represented CUPID with his Bow bent, and APOLLO behind directing him where to shoot.

I.

THYRSIS, who ne'er had felt Love's Smart,

Or Cupid's Pow'r confest,

Once to Apollo made his Court,

And thus his Pray'r addrest.

II.

Bright Pow'r, from thee, and only thee,

I'll deign to take my Doom;

Thy Wisdom must with Beauty join,

Ere I can be o'ercome.

III.

Beauty alone is but a Glass,

Wherein an Image shines,

Which pleases only when we're near,

But when we're gone, declines.

IV.

Give me the Nymph, whose Mind is bright,

And perfect as her Face:

Where Sense improves what Beauty gave,

And heightens ev'ry Grace.

V.

Such only merits my Regard,

And can my Passion move;

Shew me this Fair, with Joy I'll own,

I'll feel the Force of Love.

VI.

"Such Worth, (reply'd the God) alone

"Amasia can impart;

"See Venus reigning in her Eyes,

"Apollo in her Heart!"

To the SAME.

WHILE thus in scorching Fires I burn,

Amasia doubts the ardent Flame;

What, tho' in silent Grief I mourn,

Each Heart-felt Sigh breathes forth her Name.

O could my Pray'rs inspire her Heart

To feel the Rapture she bestows!—

Yet how can I my Pains impart,

When Honor, Virtue are my Foes?

Yes—so extravagant my Flame,

All Obstacles it can remove;

Honor and Virtue, cease your Claim,

What, what are ye, alas, to Love?

In vain do Sophists preach that Heav'n,

Has Charms conceal'd from mortal View;

They know not what a Pledge was giv'n;

They ne'er, Amasia, gaz'd on you.

Then, in this Extasy of Pain,

Bid me not from your Sight retreat,

Let me one heav'nly Smile obtain,

And breath my Ardors at your Feet.

May soft Compassion melt your Heart,

To ease the Agonies I feel!—

In vain I try their Force t'impart;

They're more than Language can reveal.

O, then behold my dying Eyes,

This trickling Tear my Pains may prove;

Or read in these Heart-rending Sighs,

Silence is eloquent in Love.

Since, tho' your Cruelty can kill,

Your Tenderness can bid me live;

Then Mercy's soft Commands fulfil,

And if you cannot bless—forgive.

By Nature to the Indian's shewn,

An Antidote for pois'nous Pains,

And who the Venom caus'd alone

Can chase it from the scorching Veins;

Thus, Fair-one, thou'rt in Justice bound,

To ease the Anguish I endure;

Thou could'st alone inflict the Wound,

Thou canst alone apply the Cure.

ODE to CUPID.
Sent to CLEORA, on New-Years-Day, with WALLER's Poems.

I.

AH! tell me, Cupid, lovely Boy,

To ease a Wound thy Arrow gave

Wilt thou for once thy Hand employ,

And serve a Youth, who lives thy Slave?

No more the Paphian Shrines shall shew

They with unequal'd Lustre glow:

Thy Altars shall thy Mother's Pride o'erturn,

To thee shall far more grateful Incense burn;

Great God of Love, vouchsafe to smile,

And thus I'll rear a nobler Pile.

II.

The sacred Myrtle shall conspire,

To kindle youthful Hammond's Lyre:

Next, folded in a Laurel Shade,

I'll place the constant Nut-brown Maid—

Blooming in Verse, for ever young;

As Fancy drew when Prior sung.

Forsaken Sapho's Song divine,

With Willow bound, shall deck the Shrine—

With Roses wreath'd I'll crown the Lays

That Granville sigh'd in Mira's Praise—

In Cypress vaild I'll add to these

The mournful Notes of Eloise—

And Cowley too, whose Lines impart

The plaintive Sorrows of his Heart,

His Swan-like Muse, that dying sung so well,

Shall grace again that Fane at which he fell.

III.

And, tho' such Off'rings well require

A Torch of bright Promethean Fire,

To raise a far more brillant Flame,

I'll softly sigh Cleora's Name.—

Ah bear this Gift with rapid flight,

And place it in my Charmer's Sight;

Conceal my Name, but say I sought,

To find an Emblem of her Thought—

The lovely Image to obtain,

Tell her how long I sought in Vain,

'Till Waller shew'd his heav'nly Strain.

IV.

Waller—who tunes his matchless Song,

Soft as her Heart, and as her Reason strong.

Where'er she turns, each Gazer views

Her Motion graceful as his Muse.

Were'er she looks, what Heart denies,

His Fancy sparkles in her Eyes?—

O then convey with choicest Care

This faithful Mirror of my Fair,

And softly whisper in her Ear,

I seal'd it with a Kiss sincere,

This Day, that leads the circling Year.

V.

Tell her that Time is jealous grown

I count my Life by her alone:

Her Absence dares invade his Pow'r,

And turn a Minute to an Hour;—

For which, whene'er she charms my Sight,

The hoary Tyrant's envious Spite

Makes Hours like Moments wing their flight.

VI.

This said—Ah! gen'rous God, be kind,

And search the Answer of her Mind.

If kind Reflection shou'd suggest,

Who 'tis that feels what you express'd,

Wide spread thy Pinions, quickly fly,

And tell me that she thinks, 'tis I.

VI.

But if (each Thought of me o'erthrown)

My hapless Verse remains unknown:

Or if, by fickle Fortune fir'd,

She scorns to hear what you inspir'd,

On me alone thy Vengeance fall,

And let my Woes attone for all!

Dying, my Soul this Suit prefers,

Tear, tear, my Breast—but pity her's!

PSALM 57, PARAPHRAS'D.

I.

BE merciful, O GOD, and save

My Soul; in Thee her Trust is plac'd;

Thy Wings for Shelter let me have,

Until this Tyranny be past.

II.

To Thee, who Help alone canst lend,

Both late and early will I call:

Thou, from on high, shalt me defend

'Gainst him, who would my Feet entral.

III.

My Soul is in the Lion's Den,

(My Enemies are gather'd Round:)

Beset with wicked Sons of Men,

Whose Tongues like Spears and Arrows wound.

VI.

LORD, to deliver me appear,

Above the Heav'n thy Beauties raise,

Thy glorious Majesty uprear,

And o'er the Earth thy Brightness blaze.

V.

Maliciously their Snares they laid,

And to oppress me sorely sought

In vain—the LORD flew to my Aid,

And in the Snare themselves are caught.

VI.

Oh! how shall I thy Goodness praise?—

The Heart, which Thou hast sav'd, receive!

Awake, my Lute! thy Raptures raise!

To GOD eternal Honors give!

VII.

Among the Nations will I sing,

And with my Voice the Temple rend:

Thy Mercies reach to Heav'n, Great King,

Thy Glories to the Clouds extend.

VIII.

In full Effulgence, LORD, appear,

Above the Heav'ns thy Beauties raise!

Thy Glorious Majesty uprear,

And o'er the Earth thy Brightness blaze!

[§] LAVINIA to AEGISTHUS.

SHUT from the World, and cloister'd from the Sun,

Ere half my Race of early Life is run,

Betray'd by hapless Love to endless Care,

Condemn'd to deep Distress, and dark Despair,

Why do I thus recal my fatal Woes,

Why, why by Recollection kill Repose?

—O Memory! Reviver of each Pain,

How long must I endure thy hated Reign?

Wilt thou for ever labor to renew

The pleasing Hours, which once, alas! I knew?

—Hours no more pleasing—the dear Youth is gone,

And with him ev'ry Happiness is flown.—

For ever must these Agonies remain,

Still must I wish for Ease, still wish in vain?

Why could not Love, that Tyrant of my Heart,

Cease his proud Reign, and with the Cause depart?

Why should his Pleasures but ideal be,

Yet all his Tortures prove—Reality?

—O come, thou first, thou best belov'd of Men,

Compose my raging Thoughts, and guide my Pen.

Teach me, like thee, to scorn these Frowns of Fate,

To laugh at Love, and all his idle State;

His soothing Joys without his Pains to feel;—

To this torn Breast that happy Art reveal.

Or, for these Pangs, which I thro' thee endure,

(Thou, who alone couldst cause, alone canst cure)

Teach me thy Loss no longer to regret;

O teach that harder Science—to forget.

—He hears not, or regardless hears my Moan,—

Must I endure these Pangs, and I alone?

'Tis just I should—my throbbing Sighs are vain;

I first indulg'd, and last should feel the Pain.

TRANSPORTED thus, I've fail'd in my Design;

'Tis Passion, and not Reason paints the Line.

I meant to speak the Virtues of his Youth,

His open Heart—his Honesty and Truth.

He is too gen'rous to augment my Care,

Or raise a Sorrow, which he would not share.

YE blooming Nymphs, who feel Love's tender Flame,

May worth like his the rising Transport claim!

Who dares each vicious Principle remove,

And scorns t'insult the Heart he cannot love.

Be such your Lot!—but ne'er like me to mourn

Or feel the Pains of Love without Return!

WHEN this poor Form shall in Oblivion lye,

When Hope, and Fear, and Joy neglected dye,

If e'er in after-times ye chance to stray,

Where the tall Elms mark yonder gloomy Way,

Th' Inscription read, which that most lov'd of Men

Has deign'd to dictate to my trembling Pen.

Notes

§
The Circumstances of this Piece are founded on Facts, to which the Author was privy; but he is obliged to conceal the real Names. The Lady, being unhappily disappointed in her Passion, retired to a Convent, and to Heav'n consecrated a Heart, which elsewhere could receive no Ease.—The Sentiments (except the Epitaph) are taken from original Letters of her writing.
↵

EPITAPH.

BENEATH (O late Enjoyment!) sleeps in Peace,

For the first Time, a young, unhappy Fair;

Blest was the Moment, when she found this Ease,

Her first of Pleasure, and her last of Care.

To One ill-omen'd Hour, and fatal Youth,

The undesigning Author of her Woes,

She gave ('twas all she had) unspotted Truth,

And gain'd at length ('twas all she ask'd) Repose.

No farther search into her hapless Lot,

Nor blame the Failings of her guardless Bloom;

Since Love unsullied decks the hallow'd Spot,

And stainless Virtue consecrates the Tomb.

To ASPASIA, A BIRTH-DAY ODE.

Hic Dies vere mihi festus atras

Eximet Curas

HORAT. Lib. 3. Od. 14.

WHAT, no unusual splendid Ray?

No Blaze to usher in the Day?

No brighter Sun to tell the Earth

This Morning gave Aspasia Birth?

No Glories more than common giv'n,

No Grace pecular from Heav'n?

No choral Songs, no Lay sublime?

None, at this fair auspicious Time?

—Imperfectly methought I said,

By Fancy's airy Visions led,—

When Venus to my dreaming Sense

Appears, and thus rebukes me—'Hence,

'Thou idle, weak Complainant!—cease—

'Nor tire the Pow'rs with Cries like these.

'What Blaze need usher in the Morn,

'When Truth and Probity was born?

'Aspasia wants no Ray divine—

'Once form'd, she self-adorn'd doth shine.

'No bounteous Godhead of the Sky

'Was absent, at her Birth, save I.

'Minerva gave her Store of Sense,

'And (to display it) Eloquence.

'Cupid bestow'd a chosen Dart,

'And plac'd it very near her Heart,

'To fight, to conquer—or to move

'The jocund Soul to laughing Love.

'Majestic Juno's Care supply'd

'Her tender Breast with honest Pride;

'Such Pride as teaches to subdue

'Each sordid Art and gainful View;

'As bids us undisdaining see

'Misfortune's Garb, and Poverty.

'Some Power of inferior Station

'Gave Meekness, Patience, Resignation—

'Wistless to wrong, to pardon free,

'Heav'n's loveliest Child, Humanity;

'Stranger to Censure, or Caprice,

'Who into Virtue construes Vice;

'For ever diligent to trace

'The fairest Meaning of the Case;

'And deckt with Tears still free to flow

'In pity to the Suff'rer's Woe.—

'Some wond'rous Virtues all have given,

'Sacred, and Favourites of Heaven;

'That wear their Glories in their Name,

'And want no Blazon to proclaim.

'Then, Mortal, thy Complaints give o'er—

'Hear—see—be silent, and adore!'

YET deign, fair Goddess, I rejoin'd,

To solve one Doubt within my Mind.

Whence is't, that on so sweet, so fair

'Semblage of Qualities thus rare,

Thy beauteous Mark has not been set,

To make the Image quite compleat?

'Mortal, had I my Pow'r employ'd,

'And superadded Beauty's Pride,

'The Form would much too fair have been,

'Too beauteous for the Sons of Men;

'Too rich for mortal Shape t'have guarded,

'Too good for Earth to have rewarded,

'Too great for future Bliss t'have mended,

'And more than Woman was intended.'

SHE fled—and instant fled away

My Vision.—I return'd to Day.

Then to Aspasia ran, to view

Whence Fancy's Pen her Picture drew;

Where wrapt I stood in Bliss extreme,

Surpriz'd to find, 'twas not a Dream.

To the SAME. A NEW-YEAR'S ODE.

I.

AS late in Fancy's Lap entranc'd I lay,

Dozing my softer Hours away:

(Fairer than Ida was the Mount she prest,

In Nature's richest Verdure drest,

The Earth with roseat Fragrance did abound,

And all methought was Paradise around;)

Array'd in Summer's fairest Vest,

A Nymph with tripping Motion came;

In gentle Accents, smiling she addrest

My list'ning Sense—and Fortune was her Name.

II.

'Long has the cens'ring World my Pow'r despis'd,

'Of ev'ry Worth my Favor dispossest,

'To prove me blind malicious Tales devis'd,

'And say, thro' me that Merit ne'er is blest.

Mortal, to thee, (nay cease to bend)

'My Suit I make, and thy Assistance crave—

'My Honors to retrieve thy Influence lend,

'And from malicious Slander save.

III.

'There is a Nymph (with Blushes I must own)

'To whom alas! too long I've been unknown:

'Who can my Gifts behold with unregarding Eyes,

'And all my Pow'r to harm defies.

'Some more than human Strength supports her Mind,

'Some Resolution not to Earth confin'd;

'Alike esteem'd my Favor and my Frown.

IV.

'One Smile from her would soon destroy

'Malice and Envy's deadliest Rage;

'Would hebetate fell Satire's keen Annoy,

'And all my Cares assuage.

'No more should Men this partial Maxim mind,

'Fortune is fickle, false, and blind,

'But all should own with Joy sincere,

'Her Pow'r is fix'd, her Judgment clear,

'This Day that leads the circling Year.

V.

'Lo! what a Garland is before thee laid,

'Of Flowers cropt from Nature's richest Tree!

'Bestow them ALL on Honor's fav'rite Maid—

'Why dost thou pause?—Aspasia must be she.

'Behold this Branch of PLEASURE's gilded Plant,

'Whereon the Flow'r CONTENT doth grow!

'And here's AFFECTION's Leaf, of Sweetness nothing scant,

'Whence PEACE of MIND it's gentle Bud shall blow,

VI.

'Lo! here a flaunting Branch of WEALTH I've brought,

'Plant, that shall never cease to bloom!

'(For which from Age to Age whole Worlds in Toil have sought)

'With FRIENDSHIP's od'rous Sprig to lend divine Perfume;

'And here of LOVE, to crown it all,

'This middle Branch expanding, fair, and tall,

'Stole from the Youth, whom most the Virgin loves.

VII.

'With awful Rev'rence, at her Virtue's shrine

'Lowly present the fragrant Wreath;

'More to commend it, let no Praise be mine,

'Say Fate, not Fortune doth the Gift bequeath!

'Ah! should she kindly deign receive

'What I with more than duteous Pleasure give,

'My Pow'r, my Honor shall for ay survive.

VIII.

'Mortal in thee I must confide,

'In this thy strictest Faith be try'd!—

I bow'd, in Token of my promis'd Care,

And look'd Obedience—ere I had exprest

My Thanks, thus honor'd with so fair Behest,

She vanish'd into Air.

IX.

The Garden, where I lay, now o'er and o'er

With curious Search I 'gan t'explore;

So rich a Chaplet to contain

A suited Cage to form all Art were vain.

Yet of the rarest Twigs, the Muse could find,

In artful, plyant Foldings twin'd,

A neat Receptacle (the best she could) she join'd,

That no unhallow'd Touch the Garland might prophane.

X.

ESTEEM his nervous Stem provides

The Groundwork to compose;

HONOR and fairest TRUTH connect the sinuous Sides;

While here and there, between the Chains,

FRATERNAL LOVE, (like Ore thro' Nature's richest Veins)

It's supple Sweetness shews.

XI.

MODESTY's tender Leaf o'ercover'd all,

Preserving from inclement Air.—

Thus, well-secur'd, the Muse shall lowly fall,

And reverentially present,

Regardful of the Goddess' great Intent,

With sacred Wishes, and right faithful Pray'r.

XII.

O may this Chaplet heighten it's Perfume,

And Day by Day improve!

Each Flow'r contain'd each Moment richer

WEALTH, PLEASURE, FRIENDSHIP, LOVE!

Henceforth no Blast, no Damp come near,

But all in fresher Sweets enrob'd appear

Each Day that leads each circling Year!

AMELIA to EUCRATES, While on her Death-Bed.

ERE these sad Lines arrive, which now I send

The fondest Husband and the truest Friend,

Those tender Titles will no longer prove

The living Tokens of our mutual Love; [*]

No more furvive.—For since that fatal Day,

When from my Bosom thou wert torn away

The rigid Call of Honor to obey,

My Malady's increas'd; my End I see:

And Health, and Joy, and Life, all fled with thee.

THAT fond Regard, I owe the best of Men,

Alone enables me to use my Pen;

The Pain to write I scarce can undergo,

And my Tears trickle where the Ink shou'd flow.

Yet the sole Terror Death presents to View,

Oh much-lov'd Consort, is, to part from you.

Else wherefore should I fear his sure Behest?

—No unrepenting Folly loads my Breast;

No Guilt inexpiate I leave behind,

No vicious Love, that dares pollute my Mind.

But in reflecting on those tender Hours,

When Love, and Peace, and Happiness were ours,

I re-enjoy our ev'ry Pleasure past;

And sigh, to think they can no longer last.

—Is this a Crime? to wish their lasting Stay,

And strive to put the Stroke of Death away?

No—sure 'tis Piety's and Virtue's Task,

For such Enjoyments Length of Days to ask;

Those rapt'rous Moments once more to redeem,

When Love, and Love alone was all our Theme;

When social Tenderness approv'd the Flame,

And Friendship sanctify'd a Husbands Name.

SINCE 'tis not ours t'explore the Work of Fate,

But descant darkly on that future State,

Where Vice shall meet it's due proportion'd Pain,

And Virtue lasting Happiness attain,

Why may we not (t'alleviate the Strife

'Twixt Hope and Fear, when we resign this Life,)

At least indulge a Wish, that we may know,

Each Stroke that's aim'd at Mortals here below?

And be employ'd perhaps, to guide their Ways,

With whom in Life we pass'd our guiltless Days?

—May I, o'er thee a Guardian Angel plac'd,

Unseen, allay the Conflicts in thy Breast!

No more, as now, a weak and fearful Mate,

To sigh, and wish away the Stroke of Fate;

But meet Misfortune with undaunted Eye,

Rush boldly on, and Death's worst Pow'r defy!

Incapable of Wound thy Steps attend,

Thy lovely Face in Battle to defend!

To view each threat'ning Danger from afar,

And shield thee in the dreadful Hour of War!

OR, when a Fever rages thro' the Veins,

Torn, and inflam'd with agonizing Pains,

Obsequious to tend the gloomy Bed,

And, in the drooping Moment, raise thy Head;

Infuse the Balm of Patience in thy Breast,

In Slumber close thine Eyes, and watch thy Rest!

No greater Happiness can I implore;

Be this my future Lot!—I ask no more.

BY these Ideas to my Fate resign'd,

I smile at Death, and cheer my languid Mind.

But Oh! your Torture, when you must deplore

Your lost Amelia—your's alas! no more!—

Revives my Torment, tears my lab'ring Heart;

Now, now I feel what Anguish 'tis to part!

Your Woes alone too fatally declare

That Death has Terrors, and that I can fear!

BUT hold—my Tenderness has rais'd a Pain,

Which in oblivion ever should remain.

Be dumb my Love!—yet can I give relief,

Or waft one Comfort to assuage thy Grief!

No—Consolation will in Vain be sent

By her whose Loss your gen'rous Tears lament.

Cease then—in Silence be my Pains exprest!

My Moments now are short—Oh! guess the rest—

If I'm myself, my latest Breath shall flow

In Pray'rs for thee—the least of what I owe.

No more thy much-lov'd Image shall I view;

No longer sigh, my Life, my Soul, Adieu!

Notes

*
The Hint of this Piece is taken from a Letter in the SPECTATOR, To Colonel R. S. in SPAIN.—Which the Reader may find in VOL. 3, No. 204.
↵

[*] BELVIDERE, (a POEM) addrest to ETHELINDA.

Fortunati ambo! si quid mea carmina possunt,

Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet aevo.

VIRG. Aen. 2. 446.

A WHILE forego your darling Seat,

Hither from Henry's Breast retreat,

Candor, Humanity, and Friendship dear!

While, by your Aid, and in your Praise,

The grateful Note I strive to raise,

To Virtue, Love, Content, and Belvidere.

II.

Graces, that warm and glad the Heart,

To me your brightest Force impart,

The Worth I know ah! let me truly tell!

Well may ye deign my Pray'r to hear,

Full well, I wot, ye all are near,

For where your Henry is, ye surely dwell.

III.

Henry, who bids my Heart to glow

With Pity, for the Suff'rer's Woe,

And to the Shiv'ring Wretch Relief extend,

Shall I not joy to speak his Praise,

Who well might merit better Lays,

My Guardian, Guide, Philosopher, and Friend!

IV.

Not his the Pride of shining Spires,

(Uneasy Seat of high Desires)

Nor glitt'ring Pomp of Equipage and Shew!

But his, to feel the Stranger's Sigh,

To wipe the trickling aged Eye,

And from the grief-swoln Bosom banish Woe.

V.

The Spot which Nature's self did frame,

(Ere Art to her Assistance came,)

Blooming Hygea's best-belov'd Retreat,

Is, by his free unsparing Hand,

Become rich Bounty's fav'rite Land,

And Charity's thrice hospitable Seat.

VI.

While yet it rustles thro' the Trees,

Quick let me catch the Morning Breeze,

And, ere it flies, enjoy the wholesome Gale!

Prostrate thy Belvidere beside,

Applaud the Mountain's lofty Pride,

Or praise the humble Glories of the Vale!

VII.

Now, in the bright meridian Blaze,

Soft let me shun the scorching Rays,

With Henry's Worth domestic Hours employ!

Behold him, with delighted Gaze,

From Mis'ry's Gripe the Orphan raise,

And teach the Widow's Heart to sing for Joy.

VIII.

Or in the length'ning Shades of Night,

(The Landscape glimm'ring on the Sight)

Her palid Queen with Rev'rence let me greet!

While from above you azure Hills,

With solemn Joy my Soul she fills,

And the dank [*] Nore slow murmurs at my Feet.

IX.

While yet the Infant Structure smil'd,

Thus Henry ev'ry Care beguil'd,

(Thro' Acts long past Poetic thought can rove,)

'Child of my Hopes, auspicious rise,

'Omen of many future Joys!

'And sacred Rest to Ethelinda's Love!'

X.

The Walls, which Virtue thus did raise,

Now vocal with their Maker's Praise,

Full sore, I ween, the Grief that dare intrude!

Yet the shak'd Head, and stifled sigh,

Withouten Words, th' Approach descry

Of Care that swells the Heart, and Sorrow rude.

XI.

How little ah! would Care avail,

Or dire Misfortune's worst Assail,

Could Henry, Ethelinda's Grief remove!

On her is fix'd the languid Eye,

For her up-rises ev'ry Sigh,

As all his Joys are center'd in her Love.

XII.

While thus enwrapt in Thought I stray,

Methinks I hear a Spirit say,

'Here Virtue dwells, and will forever rest;

'But varies her unsettled Feet,

'Nor yet can fix her lasting Seat,

"Till with her Ethelinda's Presence blest.

XIII.

'She Henry's Heart with Love can warm,

'With native Elegance can charm,

'And add to Beauty Graces more refin'd;

'With Converse sensible and gay.

'Can smile domestic Hours away,

'And calm the rising Tumults in his Mind.

XIV.

Tho' now those honest Joys deny'd,

Be Hope, my Fair, thy constant Guide!

The Time will come, to chace thy present Woes,

When Love so perfect, Truth so bright

As thine and Henry's must unite,

And dwell for aye, in undisturb'd Repose.

XV.

The youngling Muse a Moment spare,

That now he drops a silent Tear,

And softly sighs his lov'd Amasia's Name—

Forgive—o'erlook the tender Line,

That mingles other Praise with thine,

But my Heart swells to own her early Claim.

XVI.

Such, such as thine her blooming Youth,

Her Virtue, Tenderness, and Truth,

If Virtue such as thine be found on Earth;

Humanity and Honor join'd

To form a great and humble Mind,

And Goodness' self was proud to speak her Worth.

XVII.

From Virtue such as her's to part,

While in the foldings of my Heart

She liv'd with Life, and far the dearer she,

How hard!—yet robb'd, by cruel Pow'r,

Of Love's assuasive, softer Hour,

She lives (ah! cruel Stars!) no more for me.

XVIII.

O let me then admire in thee,

What my Amasia us'd to be,

With my Soul's Hope thy gen'rous Wishes join!

May thy own Henry waft a Part

Of that vast Worth, which fills his Heart,

And be a second Ethelinda mine!

Notes

*
The Name of a Gentleman's Seat in the County of KILKENNY in IRELAND.
↵

*
The Name of a River that runs through the County.
↵

Subscribed since the List was compleated Miss Bolly Loggan Thomas Newburgh, Esq

ERRATUM.

Page 32, the last Line, for pecular, read peculiar.

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A collection of poems and translations: in English and Latin. By Thomas Hull.

Hull, Thomas, 1728-1808.

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1106006453

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— A collection of poems and translations: in English and Latin. By Thomas Hull., Hull, Thomas, 1728-1808.. iv,vii-viii,[2],50p. ; 4⁰. Bath :: printed for the author; and sold by him; and Mr. Leake, and Mr. Frederick; Stephen Martin [in Bath]: and Mr. Palmer, and Mr. Ward, in Bristol,. [1758?]. [With a list of subscribers.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT4723.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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