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Fair as summer's evening skies,
En is thy life serene, and glorious;
Happy hero, great and wise,
O'er thy foes, and self victorious.

THE EPISODE OF ORPHEUS AND
EURYDICE,

TRANSLATED FROM THE FOURTH GEORGIC OF
VIRGIL.

At chorus æqualis Dryadum—
HER sudden death the mountain-Dryads mourn'd
And Rhodope's high brow the dirge return'd:
Bleak Orythya trembled at their woe,
And silver Hebrus murmur'd in his flow.
While to his mournful harp, unseen, alone,
Despairing Orpheus warbled out his moan.
With rosy dawn his plaintive lays begun,
His plaintive voice sung down the setting Sun.
Now in the frantic bitterness of woe
Silent he treads the dreary realms below,
His loss in tender numbers to deplore,

And touch'd the souls who ne'er were touch'd
before.

Mov'd with the pleasing harmony of song,
The shadowy spectres round the poet throng:
Num'rous as birds that o'er the forest play,
(When evening Phoebus rolls the light away:
Or when high Jove in wintry seasons pours
A sudden deluge from descending show'rs.)
The mother's ghost, the father's rev'rend shade,
The blooming hero, and th' unmarry'd maid:
The new-born heir who soon lamented dies,
And feeds the flames before his parent's eyes;
All whom Cocytus' sable water bounds,

And Styx with thrice three wand'ring streams
surrounds.

See, the dread regions tremble and admire!
Ev'n Pain unmov'd stands heark'ning to the lyre.
Intent, Ixion stares, nor seems to feel
The rapid motions of the whirling wheel.
Th' unfolding snakes around the furies play,
As the pale sisters listen to the lay.

Nor was the poet's moving suit deny'd,
Again to realms above he bears his bride,
When (stern decree !) he turns his longing eyes...
'Tis done, she's lost, for ever ever flies-
Too small the fault, too lasting was the pain,
Could love but judge, or Hell relent again!
Amaz'd he stands, and by the glimpse of day
Just sees th' unbody'd shadow flit away.
When thus she cry'd" Ah, too unthoughtful
Thus for one look to violate thy vows!
Fate bears me back, again to Hell I fly,
Eternal darkness swims before my eye!
Again the melancholy plains I see, [thee!"
Ravish'd from life, from pleasure, and from
She said, and sinking into endless night,
Like exhalations vanish'd from the sight.
In vain he sprung to seize her, wept, or pray'd,
Swift glides away the visionary shade.

[spouse,

How wilt thou now, unhappy Orpheus, tell Thy second loss, and melt the pow'rs of Hell? Cold are those lips that blest thy soul before, And her fair eyes must roll on thine no more. Sev'n tedious moons despairing, wild he stood, And told his woes to Strymon's freezing flood.

Beneath his feet eternal snows were spread,
And airy rocks hang nodding o'er his head,
The savage beasts in circles round him play,
And rapid streams stand list'ning to the lay.

So when the shepherd swain with curious eyes
Marks the fair nest, and makes the young his
Sad Philomel, in poplar shades alone, [prize:
In vain renews her lamentable moan.
From night to morn she chants her tender love,
And mournful music dies along the

grove.
No thoughts of pleasure now his soul employ,
Averse to Venus and the nuptial joy :
Wild as the winds o'er Thracia's plains he roves,
O'er the bleak mountains, and the leafless groves.
When stung with rage the Bacchanalian train
Rush'd to the bard, and stretch'd him on the

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UPON THE BIRTH OF LORD BEAUCHAMP.

ONCE more inspir'd, I touch the trembling
string;

What Muse for Hertford will refuse to sing?
Thine are the fav'rite strains, and may they be
Sacred to praise, to beauty, and to thee!

Sudden, methinks, in vision I survey
The glorious triumphs of th' expected day:
Fair lovely sights in opening scenes appear,
And airy music trembles on my ear;
Surrounding eyes devour the beauteous boy,
And ev'ry bosom beats with sounds of joy.

Rise from thy slumbers, gentle infant, rise!
Lift thy fair head, unfold thy radiant eyes,
Whose lovely light must other counts adorn,
And wound the hearts of beauties yet unborn,
Subdue the sex, that triumphs in its pride,
And humble those, who charm the world beside.
Descend, ye gentle Nine! descend, and spread
Laurels and bays around his infant-head.
Bid noble passions in his bosom roll,
And beams of fancy dawn upon his soul;
In soften'd music bid his accents flow,
Piercing, and gentle as descending snow :
Bid him be all that can his birth commend ;
The daring patriot, and unshaken friend;
Admir'd, yet humble, modest, though severe,
Abroad obliging, and at home sincere;
Good, just, and affable in each degree:
Such is the father, such the son shall be!
These humble strains, indulgent Hertford,
spare;

Forgive the Muse, O fairest of the fair!
First in thy shades (where silver Kennet glides,
Fair Marlbro's turrets trembling in his tides:
Where Peace and Plenty hold their gentle reign,
And lavish Nature decks the fruitful plain:
Where the fam'd mountain lifts its walks on high,
As varying prospects open on the eye)

To love's soft theme I tun'd the warbling lyre,
And borrow'd from thy eyes poetic fire.
September the
30th, 1725.

The dapper elfins theyr queint festes bedight
Wyth mickle plesaunce on a mushroom lite:
In acorne cuppes they quaffen daint liquere,
And rowle belgardes, and deffie daunce yfere;
Ful everidele they makin muskie sote,
And sowns aeriall adowne the grene woode flote.

THE ARMY OF ADRASTUS,

AND HIS ALLIES, MARCHING FROM ARGOS TO THE SIEGE OF THEBES.

FROM THE 4TH THEBIAD OF STATIUS.

Jamque suos circum

AROUND the pomp in mourning weeds array'd,
Weeps the pale father, and the trembling maid:
The screaming infants at the portals stand,
And clasp, and stop the slow-proceeding band.
Each parting face a settled horrour wears,
Each low-held shield receives a flood of tears.
Some with a kiss (sad sign of future harms)
Round the clos'd beaver glue their clasping arms,
Hang on the spear, detain 'em as they go.
With lifted eyes, and eloquence of woe.
Those warlike chiefs, whom dread Bellona steel'd,
And arm'd with souls unknowing once to yield,
Now touch'd with sorrows, hide their tearful
eyes,

And all the hero melts away and dies.

So the pale sailor lanching from the shore, Leaves the dear prospects that must charm no

more:

Here shrieks of anguish pierce his pitying ears-
There strangely wild, a floating world appears―
Swift the fair vessel wings her watry flight,
And in a mist deceives the aking sight:
The native train in sad distraction weep,
Now beat their breasts, now tremble o'er the deep,
Curse ev'ry gale that wafts the fleet from land,
Breathe the last sigh, and wave the circling hand.

You now, fair ancient Truth! conduct along
Th' advent'rous bard, and animate his song:
Each godlike man in proper lights display,
And open all the war in dread array.
You too, bright mistress of th' Aonian quire,
Divine Calliope! resume the lyre:
The lives and deaths of mighty chiefs recite,
The waste of nations, and the rage of fight.

A SIMILIE,

UPON A SET OF TEA-DRINKERS.

So fairy elves their morning-table spread
O'er a white mushroom's hospitable head:
In acorn cups the merry goblins quaff,
The pearly dews, they sing, they love, they laugh;
Melodious music trembles through the sky,
And airy sounds along the green-wood die.

THE SAME.

DIVERSIFYED IN AUNCIENT METRE.

So, yf deepe clerkes in tymes of yore saine trew, Or poets eyne, perdie, mought sothly vew,

A SOLILOQUY,

OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRFING OF A GRASSHOPPEN.

HAPPY insect! ever blest
With a more than mortal rest,
Rosy dews the leaves among,
Humble joys, and gentle song!
Wretched poet! ever curst,
With a life of lives the worst,
Sad despondence, restless fears,
Endless jealousies and tears.

In the burning summer, thou
Warblest on the verdant bough,
Meditating chearful play,
Scorch'd in Cupid's fervours, I
Mindless of the piercing ray;
Ever weep and ever die.

Proud to gratify thy will,
Ready Nature waits thee still:
Balmy wines to thee she pours,
Weeping through the dewy flow'rs:
Rich as those by Hebe giv'n
To the thirsty sons of Heav'n.
Yet alas, we both agree,
Miserable thou like me!
Each alike in youth rehearses
Gentle strains, and tender verses;
Mindless of the days to come,
Ever wand'ring far from home;
(Such as aged Winter brings
Trembling on his icy wings)
Both alike at last we die;
Thou art starv'd, and so am [!

THE STORY OF ARETHUSA. TRANSLATED FROM THE 5TH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMOR phoses.

Connection to the former. The poet describes Ceres wandering over the world in great affliction, to search after her daughter Proserpina, who was then lost. At last Arethusa (a river of Sicily) informs the goddess that her daughter was stolen away by Pluto, and carried down into Hell. Now it was ordained by fate, that Prosperine should return again, if she tasted not of any fruit in the other world. But temptations were strong, and the woman could not resist eating six or seven kernels of a pomegranate. However, to mitigate the sentence, Jupiter decreed that she should reside but half the year with Pluto, and pass the rest with her mother. Upon these terms Ceres is very well pacified, and in complaisance desires Arethusa to relate her life, and for what reasons she was changed into a river.

HUSH'D in suspence the gath'ring waters stood, When thus began the parent of the flood; What time emerging from the wave, she prest Her verdant tresses dropping on her breast.

"Of all the nymphs Achaia boasts," (she said) "Was Arethusa once the fairest maid. None lov'd so well, to spread in early dawn The trembling meshes o'er the dewy lawn: Tho' dress and beauty scarce deserv'd my care, Yet ev'ry tongue confess'd me to be fair. The charms which others strive for, I resign, And think it ev'n a crime to find them mine!

"It chanc'd one morn, returning from the Weary I wander'd by a silver flood: [wood, The gentle waters scarce were seen to glide, And a calm silence still'd the sleeping tide; High o'er the banks a grove of watry trees Spread its dark shade that trembled to the breeze. (My vest suspended on the boughs) I lave My chilly feet, then plunge beneath the wave; A ruddy light my blushing limbs dispread, And the clear stream half glows with rosy-red. When from beneath in awful murmurs broke A hollow voice, and thus portentous spoke:

"My lovely nymph, my Arethusa stay, Alpheus calls; it said, or seem'd to say

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IMITATED AND ENLARGED.

"Naked and swift 1 flew, (my clothes behind) As fast beside a murm'ring stream, Fear strung my nerves, and shame enrag'd my

mind:

So wing'd with hunger the fierce eagle flies,
To drive the trembling turtles through the skies:
So wing'd with fear the trembling turtles spring,
When the fierce eagle shoots upon the wing.

"Swift-bounding from the god, I now survey
Where breezy Psophis and Cyllene lay.
Elis' fair structures open'd on my eyes;
And waving Erymanthus cools the skies.
At length unequal for the rapid chase
Tremble my limbs, the god maintains the race:
O'er hills and vales with furious haste I flew :
O'er hills and vales the god behind me drew.
Now hov'ring o'er, his length'ning shadow bends,
(His length'ning shadow the low Sun extends)
And sudden now, his sounding steps drew near;
At least I seem'd his sounding steps to hear.
Now sinking, in short sobs I gasp'd for breath,
Just in the jaws of violence and death.
"Ah,Cynthia help!'('twas thus in thought I pray'd)
Ah, help a ravish'd, miserable maid!'
The virgin-pow'r consenting to my pray'r,
Diffus'd around a veil of clouded air:
Lost in the gloom he wanders o'er the plain,
And Arethusa calls, but calls in vain;
In misty steams th' impervious vapours rise,
Perplex his guesses, and deceive his eyes.

"What fears I felt as thus enclos'd I stood, What chilling horrours trembled thro' my blood? So pants the fawn in silence and despair, When the grim wolf runs howling thro' the lair: So sits the lev'ret, when the hound pursues His trembling prey, and winds the tainted dews,

"Sudden my cheek with flashing colour burns, Pale swoons, and sickly fears succeed by turns: Cold creeps my blood, its pulses beat no more: Big drops of sweat ascend from ev'ry pore; Adown my locks the pearly dews distill, And each full eye pours forth a gushing rill; Now all at once my melting limbs decay, In one clear stream dissolving fast away."

In blissful visions Cupid lay,

Chloë, as she softly came,

Snatch'd his golden shafts away. From place to place in sad surprize The little angry godhead flew:

Trembling in his ruddy eyes

Hung the pearly drops of dew. So on the rose (in blooming May, When purple Phoebus rises bright) Liquid gems of silver lay,

Pierc'd with glitt'ring streams of light. Fair Venus with a tender languish Smiling, thus her son addrest,

As he murmur'd out his anguish

Trembling on her snowy breast: "Peace, gentle infant, I implore, Nor lavish precious tears in vain; Chloë, when the jest is o'er,

Brings the useless shafts again. "Can Chloë need the shafts of love, Young, blooming, witty, plump, and fair? Charms and raptures round her move, Murm'ring sighs, and deep despair. "Millions for her unheeded dic, Millions to her their blessings owe; Ev'ry motion of her eye

Murders more than Cupid's bow."

TO A YOUNG LADY,

WITH MR. FENTON'S MISCELLANY.

THESE various strains, where ev'ry talent charms,
Where humour pleases, or where passion warms:
(Strains! where the tender and sublime conspire,
A Sappho's sweetness, and a Homer's fire
Attend their doom, and wait with glad surprise
Th' impartial justice of Cleora's eyes.

'Tis hard to say, what mysteries of fate, What turns of fortune on good writers wait. The party-slave will wound 'em as he cau, And damns the merit, if he hates the man. Nay, ev'n the bards with wit and laurels crown'd, Bless'd in each strain, in ev'ry art renown'd, Misled by pride, and taught to sin by pow'r, Still search around for those they may devour; Like savage monarchs on a guilty throne, Who crush all might that can invade their own. Others who hate, yet want the soul to dare, So ruin bards-as beaus deceive the fair: On the pleas'd ear their soft deceits employ; Smiling they wound, and praise but to destroy. These are th' unhappy crimes of modern days, And can the best of poets hope for praise?

How small a part of human blessings share The wise, the good, the noble, or the fair! Short is the date unhappy wit can boast, A blaze of glory in a moment lost, Fortune, still envious of the great man's praise, Curses the coxcomb with a length of days. So (Hector dead) amid the female quire, Unmanly Paris tun'd the silver lyre,

Attend ye Britons! in so just a cause
'Tis sure a scandal, to withhold applause ;
Nor let posterity reviling say,

Thus unregarded Fenton pass'd away!
Yet if the Muse may faith or merit claim,
(A Muse too just to bribe with venal fame)
Soon shalt thou shine "in majesty avow'd';
As thy own goddess breaking thro' a cloud." I
Fame, like a nation-debt, tho' long delay'd,
With mighty int'rest must at last be paid.

Like Vinci's strokes, thy verses we behold;
Correctly graceful, and with labour bold.
At Sappho's woes we breathe a tender sigh,
And the soft sorrow steals from ev'ry eye.
Here Spenser's thoughts in solemu numbers roll,
Here lofty Milton seems to lift the soul.
There sprightly Chaucer charms our hours away
With stories quaint, and gentle roundelay.
Muse! at that name each thought of pride
r call,

Ah, think now soon the wise and glorious fall!
What though the sisters ev'ry grace impart,
To smooth thy verse, and captivate the heart:
What though your charms, my fair Cleora! shine
Bright as your eyes, and as your sex divine:
Yet shall the verses, and the charms decay,
The boast of youth, the blessing of a day!
Not Chaucer's beauties could survive the rage
Of wasting envy, and devouring age:
One mingled heap of ruin now we see:
Thus Chaucer is, and Fenton thus shall be!

TO MR. POPE.

To move the springs of nature as we please,
To think with spirit, but to write with ease:
With living words to warm the conscious heart,
Or please the soul with nicer charms of art,
For this the Grecian soar'd in epic strains,
And softer Maro left the Mantuan plains:
Melodious Spenser felt the lover's fire,
And awful Milton strung bis Heav'nly lyre.

Epistle to Southerne.

'Tis yours, like these, with curious toil to trace The pow'rs of language, harmony, and grace, How nature's self with living lustre shines; How judgment strengthens, and how art refines; How to grow bold with conscious sense of fame, And force a pleasure which we dare not blame : To charm us more thro' negligence than pains, And give ev'n life and action to the strains: Led by some law, whose pow'rful impulse guides Each happy stroke, and in the soul presides: Some fairer image of perfection, giv'n T'inspire mankind, itself deriv'd from Heav'n.

O ever worthy, ever crown'd with praise; Blest in thy life, and blest in all thy lays! Add that the sisters ev'ry thought refine; Or ev'n thy life be faultless as thy line; Yet envy still with fiercer rage pursues, Obscures the virtue, and defames the Muse. A soul like thine, in pains, in grief resign'd, Views with vain scorn the malice of mankind: Not critics, but their planets prove unjust : And are they blam'd who sin because they must? Yet sure not so must all peruse thy lays;

I cannot rival-and yet dare to praise.

A thousand charms at once my thoughts engage,
Sappho's soft sweetness, Pindar's warmer rage,
Statius' free vigour, Virgil's studious care,
And Homer's force, and Ovid's easier air.

So seems some picture, where exact design,
And curious pains, and strength and sweetness
join:
[tows,
Where the free thought its pleasing grace bes-
And each warm stroke with living colour glows:
Soft without weakness, without labour fair;
Wrought up at once with happiness and care!

How blest the man that from the world removes To joys that Mordaunt, or his Pope approves ; Whose taste exact cach author can explore, And live the present and past ages o'er : Who free froin pride, from penitence, or strife, Move calmly forward to the verge of life Such be my days, and such my fortunes be, To live by reason, and to write by thee!

Nor deem this verse,tho' humble, thy disgrace; All are not born the glory of their race: Yet all are born t' adore the great man's name, And trace his footsteps in the paths to fame. The Muse, who now this early homage pays, First learn'd from thee to animate her lays: A Muse as yet unhonour'd, but unstain'd, Who prais'd no vices, no preferment gain'd; Unbiass'd or to censure or commend, Who knows no envy, and who grieves no friend; Perhaps too fond to make those virtues known, And tix her fame immortal on thy own.

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in his infancy expos'd to wild beasts upon the mountains; but by some miraculous preservation he escaped this danger, and afterwards, by mistake, slew his own father, as they contended for the way. He then married Jocasta, queen of Thebes, whom he knew not to be his mother, and had by her two sons, Etheocles and Polynices; who, after their father had

foot-race, the discus, the fight with the cæstus, the wrestling, and shooting of arrows; which last ends with a prodigy, foreboding that none of the confederate princes should return from the war, except Adrastus.

claims

put out his eyes, and banished himself from SooN mournful fame through ev'ry town proThebes, agreed between themselves to govern year by year interchangeably. But this agreement was ill observed. Etheocles, when his date of government was expired, refused to resign it to Polynices: who, in his rage, fled to Adrastus, king of Argos, to implore assistance against his brother. Adrastus received the

young prince with all imaginable tenderness, and gave him in marriage to his fair daughter Deipyle, as the oracles had appointed. He then, with the assistance of his allies, undertakes to settle Polynices on the throne, and to depose Etheocles. Upon this, Thebes is besieged, and after several encounters, the difference is at last decided by the duel and death of the two brothers. This is the main action of the poem.

Besides this, by way of an under-action, the
poet has interwoven another distinct story.
The goddess Venus is resolved to revenge her-
self upon the Lemnians, because they neg-
lected all sacrifices to her. She first disgusts
the men with their wives, and then in return
spirits up the women into a resolution of mur-
dering their husbands. This horrible design
was executed by each of them, except Hyp-
sipyle, who saved her father Thoas. Some
time afterwards this also was discovered.
Hypsipyle, to avoid the fury of the women
fled to the sea-shore; where she was taken
by the pirates, and presented by them to king
Lycurgus, who made her nurse to his son
Archemorus. The dominions of this prince lay
directly in the way from Argos to Thebes.
As Adrastus and his allies were marching
thither, the troops were ready to perish for
want of water. They chanced in a wood to
meet Hypsipyle, who pitying their misfortunes,
lays down in haste her young child, and shows
them a spring that could never be drained.
She receives the thanks of Adrastus, and
having at his request recited her own adven-
tures, returns back, and finds the young in-
fant Archemorus just kill'd by a serpent. Her
confusion and fears are described in an excel-
lent speech upon that occasion. The Grecians
kill the serpent, and in honour of the dead
prince perform all the rites of burial; which
is the subject of this present book.
First of all it begins with an historical account
of the Nemaan games, then follows the fu-
neral, with a more particular description of
hewing the forests, and offering their hair to
the deceased. The anguish of Adrastus, the
lamentations of Eurydice, and the silence of
Hypsipyle, are extremely well adapted to na-
ture. A monument is erected to the memory
of Archemorus, which is ornamented with the
whole story in sculpture. After this succeed
the funeral games; the chariot-race, the

The rites of sepulture, and Grecian games :
What mighty chiefs should glory give or gain,
Prepar'd to combat on the listed plain.
These honours first the great Alcides paid
To please old Pelop's venerable shade:
What time near Pisa he inhum'd the dead,
And bound with olive-wreaths his dusty head.
These, with new hopes glad Phocis next bestow'd,
When Python sunk beneath her bowyer god.
These still religion to Palæmon pays
(Religion blinded with a length of days)
When hanging o'er the deep in anguish raves
His royal mother' to the sounding waves;
O'er either Isthmus floats the mingled moan,
And distant Thebè answers groan for groan.

The pious games begin, with loud alarms,
Here the young warriours first prelude in arms:
Each blooming youth Aonia sends to fame,
And each dear object to the Tyrian dame;
Who once embru'd in blood, shall heap around
High hills of slain, and deluge all the ground.

The youthful sailors thus with early care
Their arms experience, and for sea prepare:
On some smooth lake their lighter oars essay,
And learn the dangers of the watry way;
But once grown bold, they lanch before the
wind

Eager and swift, nor turn their eyes behind.

Aurora now, fair daughter of the day,
Warm'd the clear orient with a blushing ray;
Swift from mankind the pow'r of slumbers flew;
And the pale Moon her glimm'ring beams with
drew.

O'er the long woods the matin dirges run,
And shrieks of sorrow wake the rising Sun,

Th' unhappy father, father now no more,
His bosom beat, his aged hairs he tore :
Beside him lay each ornament of state,
To make him wretched, as they made him great.
With more than female grief the mother cries,
And wringing both her hands, obtests the skies;
Bending she weeps upon th' extended slain,
Bathes ev'ry wound, returns, and weeps again.

But when the kings in sad and solemn woe,
Enter'd the dome, majestically slow:
(As if just then the trembling babe was found,
And life's last blood came issuing thro' the wound)
Breast took from breast the melancholy strain,
And pausing nature wept, and sob'd again.
Confus'd each Grecian hangs his guilty head,
And weeps a flood of tears to wail the dead.

Mean while Adrastus bears the friendly part,
And with kind words consoles the father's heart.
He marks th' eternal orders of the sky,
And proves that man was born to grieve and die;
Now tells him Heav'n will future children seud
To heir his kingdom, and his years defend.

! Leucothöe.

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