At this, more charm'd, " The rather I bestow," Said Love," these honours you in vain forego: "Take then the wreath, which you, victoriou Fair! "Have most deserv'd, yet least affect to wear."
ON DIVINE POETRY.
In Nature's Golden Age, when new-born Day
Array'd the skies, and earth was green and gay;
When God with pleasure all his works survey'd,
And Virgin-innocence before him play'd;
In that illustrious morn, that lovely spring,
The Muse, by Heav'n inspir'd, began to sing;
Descending angels, in harmonious lays,
Taught the first happy pair their Maker's praise.
Such was this sacred art---We now deplore
The Muse's loss, since Eden is no more.
When vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head,
Th' affrighted maid with chaste Astræ fled,
And sought protection in her native sky;
In vain the Heathen Nine her absence would supply.
Yet to some few, whose dazzling virtues shone
In ages past, her heav'nly charms were known.
Hence learn'd the bard in lofty strains to tell
How patient Virtue triumph'd over hell;
And hence the chief, who led the chosen race
Thro' parting seas, deriv'd his songs of praise:
She gave the rapt'rous ode, whose ardent lay
Sings female force, and vanquish'd Sisera ;
She tun'd th' pious notes the Psalmist's lyre,
And fill'd Isaiah's breast with more than Pindar's fire.
WHEN Fancy did Molinda's hand invite,
Without the help of colour, shade, or light,
To form in vellum, spotless as her mind,
The fairest image of the feather'd kind,
Nature herself a strict attendance paid,
Charm'd with th' attainments of th' illustrious maid; Inspir'd her thought, and, smiling, said, "I'll see "How well this fair one's art can copy me."
So to her fav'rite Titian once she came,
To guide his pencil, and attest his fame,
With transport granting all that she could give,
And bid his works to wond'ring ages live.
Not with less transport here the goddess sees
The curious piece advance by slow degrees;
At last such skill in ev'ry part was shown,
It seem'd a new creation of her own:
She starts to view the finish'd figure rise,
And spread his ample train, enrich'd with eyes;
To see, with lively grace, his form exprest,
The stately honours of his rising crest,
His comely wings, and his soft silky breast!
The leaves of creeping vines around him play,
And Nature's leaves less perfect seem than they.
O, matchless Bird! whose race, with nicest care,
Heav'n seems in pleasure to have form'd so fair!
From whose gay plumes ev'n Phoebus with delight
Sees his own rays reflected doubly bright!
Tho' num'rous rivals of the wing there be
That share our praise, when not compar'd to thee,
Soon as thy rising glories strike our eyes,
Their beauty shines no more, their lustre dies:
So when Molinda, with superior charms,
Dazzles the ring, and other nymphs disarms,
To her the rallying Loves and Graces fly,
And, fixing there, proclaim the victory.
No wonder, then, since she was born t' excel,
This bird's fair image she describes so well;
Happy, as in some temple, thus to stand
Immortaliz'd by her successful hand.
ON LUCINDA's TEA-TABLE.
POETS invoke, when they rehearse
In happy strains their pleasing dreams,
Some Muse unseen to crown their verse,
And boast of Heliconian streams:
(Who more reviving streams imparts) Our fancies with the poet's fires,
And with a nobler flame our hearts.
While from her hand each honour'd guest
Receives his cup with liquor crown'd,
He thinks 'tis Jove's immortal feast,
And Venus deals the nectar round.
As o'er each fountain, poets sing,
Some lovely guardian-nymph has sway,
Who from the consecrated spring
Wild beasts and Satyrs drives away;
So hither dares no savage press,
Who Beauty's sov'reign pow'r defies;
All, drinking here, her charms confess,
Proud to be conquer'd by her eyes.
When Phoebus try'd his herbs in vain
On Hyacinth, had she been there,
With tea she would have cur'd the swain,
Who only then had dy'd for her.
VICTORIA Comes! she leaves the forag'd groves:
Her flying camp of Graces and of Loves
Strike all their tents, and for the March prepare,
And to new scenes of triumph wait the fair.
Unlike the slaves which other warriors gain,
That loathe subjection, and would break their chain,
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