ON SEEING A LADY PERFORM A CERTAIN
FOR you, bright fair, the Nine address their lays,
And tune my feeble voice to sing thy praise.
The heartfelt power of every charm divine,
Who can withstand their all commanding shine;
See how she moves along with every grace,
While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face.
She speaks! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss,
Ye gods! what transport e'er compared to this,
As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love
With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove.
'Twas joy and endless blisses all around,
And rocks forgot their hardness at the sound.
Then first, at last even Jove was taken in,
And felt her charms, without disguise, within.
TO G. C. AND R. L.
'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together,
'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether; This, I believe, between us great and small, You, I, he, wrote it not-'twas Churchill's all.
ADDRESSED TO THE GENTLEMAN REFLECTED ON IN THE ROSCIAD, A POEM.
Worried with debts, and past all hopes of bail,
His pen he prostitutes t'avoid a gaol.
LET not the hungry Bavius' angry stroke
Awake resentment, or your rage provoke-
But pitying his distress, let virtue shine,
And giving each your bounty-let him dine.
For thus retained, as learned counsel can,
Each case, however bad, he'll new japan;
And by a quick transition, plainly show
'Twas no defeat of yours-but pocket low,
That caused his putrid kennel to o'erflow.
ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON.
YE muses, pour the pitying tear
For Pollio snatched away;
Oh! had he lived another year-
He had not died to-day.
Oh! were he born to bless mankind
In virtuous times of yore,
Heroes themselves had fallen behind-
Whene'er he went before.
How sad the groves and plains appear
And sympathetic sheep;
Even pitying hills would drop a tear-
If hills could learn to weep.
His bounty in exalted strain
Each bard might well display,
Since none implored relief in vain-
That went relieved away.
And hark! I hear the tuneful throng
His obsequies forbid;
He still shall live, shall live as long-
As ever dead man did.
TRANSLATION FROM SCARRON.
THUS, when soft love subdues the heart
With smiling hopes and chilling fears,
The soul rejects the aid of art,
And speaks in moments more than years.
FROM THE LATIN OF VIDA.
SAY, heavenly muse, their youthful frays rehearse; Begin, ye daughters of immortal verse.
Exulting rocks have own'd the power of song,
And rivers listened as they flow'd along.
First Jewish Prophet.
Second Jewish Prophet.
Israelitish Woman.
First Chaldean Priest.
Second Chaldean Priest.
Chaldean Woman.
Chorus of Youths and Virgins.
SCENE-The Banks of the River Euphrates near Babylon.
FIRST FROPHET.-RECITATIVE.
YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weep
Where flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep-
Suspend your woes awhile, the task suspend,
And turn to God, your father and your friend:
Insulted, chained, and all the world our foe,
Our God alone is all we boast below.
CHORUS OF PROPHETS.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise:
And though no temple richly dress'd,
Nor sacrifice is here-
We'll make his temple in our breast,
And offer up a tear.
That strain once more! it bids remembrance rise,
And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes:
Ye fields of Sharon, dress'd in flowery pride;
Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide;
Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown'd;
Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around:
Those hills how sweet! those plains how wondrous fair!
But sweeter still when Heaven was with us there!
O Memory! thou fond deceiver-
Still importunate and vain;
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain;
Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe!
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.
FIRST PROPHET.-RECITATIVE.
Yet why repine? What though by bonds confined,
Should bonds enslave the vigour of the mind?
Have we not cause for triumph, when we see
Ourselves alone from idol worship free?
Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun
Where prostrate error hails the rising sun?
Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain
For superstitious rites and mirth profane?
And should we mourn? Should coward virtue fly,
When vaunting folly lifts her head on high?
No? rather let us triumph still the more-
And as our fortune sinks, our spirits soar.
The triumphs that on vice attend
Shall ever in confusion end;
The good man suffers but to gain,
And every virtue springs from pain:
As aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crush'd, or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.
SECOND PROPHET.-RECITATIVE.
But hush, my sons! our tyrant lords are near,—
The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear;
Triumphant music floats along the vale-
Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale:
The growing sound their swift approach declaresDesist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.
Enter CHALDEAN PRIESTS attended.
Come on, my companions, the triumph display,
Let raptures the minutes employ;
The sun calls us out on this festival day,
And our monarch partakes in the joy.
Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies;
Both similar blessings bestow:
The sun with his splendour illumines the skies;
And our monarch enlivens below.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.
Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure,
Love presents the fairest treasure,
Leave all other sports for me.
A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT.
Or rather, love's delights despising,
Haste to raptures ever rising;
Wine shall bless the brave and free.
Wine and beauty thus inviting,
Each to different joys exciting,
Whither shall my choice incline?
I'll waste no longer thought in choosing,
But, neither this nor that refusing,
I'll make them both together mine.
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