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- To VENUS. A GAIN? new Tumults in my breast? 01 Ah spare me, Venus ! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas ! the man
As in the gentle Reign of My Queen Anne. Ah sound no more thy soft alarms,
Nor circle sober fifty with thy Charms. Mother too fierce of dear Defires !
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To Number five direct your Doves, There spread round MURRAY all your bloom
ing Loves; Noble and young, who strikes the heart
With ev'ry sprightly, ev'ry decent part; Equal, the injur'd to defend,
To charm the Mistress, or to fix the Friend.
* This, and the unfinith'd imitation of the ninth Ode of the fourth Book which follows, Chew as happy a vein for man maging the Odes of Horace as the Epistes.
Et centum puer artium,
Late signa feret militiae tuae. i in Et, quandoque potentior
Largi muneribus riserit aemuli, Albanos prope te lacus
Ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea. Illic plurima naribus
Duces thura ; lyraque et Berecynthia Delectabere tibia
Mixtis carminibus, non fine fistula. Illic bis pueri die
Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido
In morem Salium ter quatient humum. Me nec femina, nec puer
Jam, nec fpes animi credula mutui, Nec certare juvat mero,
Nec vincire novis tempora floribus.
He, with a hundred Arts refin’d, . .
Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind : To him each Rival shall submit, ..
Make but his Riches equal to his Wit. Then shall thy Form the Marble grace,
(Thy Grecian Form) and Chloe lend the Face : His House, embosom'd in the Grove,
Sacred to social life and social love,' Shall glitter o'er the pendent green,
Where Thames reflects the visionary scene : Thither, the filver-sounding lyres
Shall call the smiling Loves, and young Desires; There, ev'ry Grace and Muse shall throng,
Exalt the dance, or animate the song ; There Youths and Nymphs, in confort gay,
Shall hail the rising, close the parting day. With me, alas ! those joys are o'er ;
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu ! fond hope of mutual fire,
The still-believing, still-renew'd defire ; Adieu ! the heart-expanding bowl,
And all the kind Deceivers of the soul !
Steals down my cheek th' involuntary Tear?
Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, ćur
Manat rara meas lacryma per genas ? Cur facunda parum decoro
Inter verba cadit lingua filentio ? Nocturnis ego fomnis
Jam captum teneo, jam voluerem sequor Te per gramina Martii
Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubiles,
Why words so flowing, thoughts so free,
Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee? Thee, drest in Fancy's airy beam,
Absent I follow thro’ th' extended Dream ; Now, now I seizę, I clasp thy charms,
And now you burst (ah cruel!) from my arms ; And swiftly shoot along the Mall,
Or foftly glide by the Canal,
And now, on rolling Waters snatch'd awaya: