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So idle, yet so restless, are our minds,

For this, hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school, We climb the Alps, and brave the raging winds; And each instructed feature has its rule: Through various toils to seek content we roam, And yet how few have learnt, when this is given, Which with but thinking right were ours at home. Not to disgrace the partial boon of Heaven! For not the ceaseless change of shifted place How few with all their pride of form can move ! Can from the heart a settled grief erase,

How few are lovely, that are made for love! Nor can the purer balm of foreign air

Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess
Heal the distemper'd mind of aching care.' An elegance of mind as well as dress;
The wreteb, by wild impatience driven to rove, Be that your ornament, and know to please
Text with the pangs of ill-requited love,

By graceful Nature's unaffected ease.
Froen Pole to Pole the fatal arrow bears,

Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence, Whose rooted point bis bleeeding bosom tears; But wisely rest content with modest sense; With equal pain each different cline he tries, For wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain, And is himself that torment which he flies.

Too strong for feeble woman to sustain: For how should ills, which from our passions flow, Of those who claim it more than half have none; Be chang'd by Afric's heat, or Russia's snow? And half of those who have it are undone. Or how can aught but powerful reason cure

Be still superior to your sex’s arts, What from unthinking folly we endure?

Nor think dishonesty a proof of parts : Happy is he, and be alone, who knows

For you, the plainest is the wisest rule: His heart's uneasy discord to compose;

A cunning woman is a knavish fool. In generous love of others' good, to find

Be good yourself, nor think another's shame The sweetest pleasures of the social mind;

Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame. To bound bis wishes in their proper sphere;

Prudes rail at whores, as statesmen in disgrace To nourish pleasing hope, and conquer anxious fear: At ministers, because they wish their place. This was the wisdom ancient sages taught,

Virtue is amiable, mild, serene;
This was the sovereign good they justly sought; Without, all beauty; and all peace within :
This to no place or climate is confin'd,

The honour of a prude is rage and storin,
But the free native produce of the mind.

'Tis ugliness in its most frightful form. Nor think, my lord, that couts to you deny Fiercely it stands, defying gods and men, The useful practice of philosophy:

As fiery monsters guard a giant's den. Horace, the wisest of the tuneful choir,

Seek to be good, but aim not to be great: Not always chose from greatness to retire;

A woman's noblest station is retreat: But, in the palace of Augustus, knew

Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, The same unerring maxims to pursue,

Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light. Which, in the Sabine or the Velian shade,

To rougher man Ambition's task resign: His study and his happiness he made.

'Tis ours in senates or in courts to shine; May you, my friend, by his example taught,

To labour for a sunk corrupted state, View all the giddy scene with sober thought;

Or dare the rage of Envy, and be great. Codazzled every glittering folly see,

One only care your gentle breasts should move, And in the midst of slavish forms be free;

Th’important business of your life is love; In its own centre keep your steady mind,

To this great point direct your constant aim, Let Prudence guide you, but let Honour bind. This makes your happiness, and this your fame. In show, in manners, act the courtier's part,

Be never cool reserve with passion join'd; But be a country gentleman at heart.

With caution choose; but then be fondly kind.
The selfish heart, that but by halves is given,
Shall find no place in Love's delightful Heaven;

Here sweet extremes alone can truly bless :

The virtue of a lover is excess.

A maid unask'd may own a well-plac'd Name;

Not loving first, but loving wrong, is shame. The counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,

Contemn the little pride of giving pain, Ton mughly kind to please a lady's ear,

Nor think that conquest justifies disdain, l'nlike the flatteries of a lover's pen,

Short is the period of insulting power: Such truths as women seldom learn from men. Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour; Nor think I praise you ili, when thus I show Soon will resume the empire which he gave, What female vanity might fear to know.

And soon the tyrant shall become the slave. Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere;

Blest is the maid, and worthy to be blest, But greater your's, sincerity to bear.

Whose soul, entire by him she loves possest, Hard is the fortune that your sex attends; Feels every vanity in fondness lost, Women, like princes, find few real friends: And asks no power but that of pleasing most : All who approach them their own ends pursue;

Hers is the bliss, in just return, to prove Lovers and ministers are seldoin true.

The honest warmth of undissembled love; Hence oft from Reason heedless Beauty strays, For her, inconstant man might cease to range, And the most trusted guide the most betrays, And gratitude forbid desire to change. Hence, by food dreams of fancied power amus'd, But, lest harsh Care the lover's peace destroy, When most ye tyrannise, you 're most abus'd. And roughly blight the tender buds of joy, What is your sex's earliest, latest care,

Let Reason teach what Passion fain would hide, Your heart's supreme ambition ?- To be fair. That Hymen's bands by Prudence should be tied, For this, the toilet every thought employs,

Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys: If angry Fortune on their union frown:


Soon will the flattering dream of bliss be o'er, The clearest spring, or shadiest grove:
And cloy'd imagination cheat no more.

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain,
With mutual tears the nuptial couch they stain; When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
And that fond love, which should afford relief, Her nets she spread for every swain,
Does but increase the anguish of their grief: I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
While both could easier their own sorrows bear, Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Than the sad knowledge of each other's care.

Yet may you rather feel that virtuous pain,
Than sell your violated charms for gain;
Than wed the wretch whom you despise or hate,

For the vain glare of useless wealth or state.
The most abandoned prostitutes are they,

Who not to love, but avarice, fall a prey : Tue heavy hours are almost past
Nor aught avails the specious name of wife ;

That part my love and me:
A maid so wedded is a whore for life. (ven My longing eyes may hope at last

Ev’n in the happiest choice, where favouring Hea- Their only wish to see.
Has equal love and easy fortune given,
Think not, the husband gain'd, that all is done:

But how, my Delia, will you meet
The prize of happiness must still be won :

The man you've lost so long? And oft, the careless find it to their cost,

Will love in all your pulses beat,
The lover in the husband may be lost ;

And tremble on your tongue?
The Graces might alone his heart allure ;
They and the Virtues meeting must secure.

Will you in every look declare
Let ev'n your prudence wear the pleasing dress Your heart is still the same;
Of care for him, and anxious tenderness.

And heal each idly-anxious care
From kind concern about his weal or woe,

Our fears in absence frame?
Let each domestic duty seem to flow.
The household sceptre if he bids you bear,

Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene,
Make it your pride his servant to appear:

When shortly we shall meet; Endearing thus the common acts of life,

And try what yet remains between
The mistress still shall charm him in the wife ;

Of loitering time to cheat.
And wrinkled age shall unobserv'd come on,
Before his eye perceives one beauty gone : But, if the dream that soothes my mind
Ev'n o'er your cold, your ever-sacred urn,

Shall false and groundless prove;
His constant flame, shall unextinguish'd burn.

If I am doom'd at length to find
Thus I, Belinda, would your charms improve, You have forgot to love:
And form your heart to all the arts of love.
The task were harder, to secure my own

All I of Venus ask, is this;
Against the power of those already known:

No more to let us join: For well you twist the secret chains that bind

But grant me here the flattering bliss,
With gentle force the captivated mind,

To die, and think you mine.
Skill'd every soft attraction to employ,
Fach flattering hope, and each alluring joy.
I own your genius; and from you receive
The rules of pleasing, which to you I give.


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Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest, Unkind! my falsehood to upbraid,

Humbly secure, and indolently biest;

Warın'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth, When your own orders I ohey'd ; Yog bid me try, by this deceit,

P ll waste the wintry hours in social mirth; The notice of the world to cheat,

In summer pleas'd at end to harvest toils, And hide, beneath another name,

In autumn press the vineyard's purple spoils,

And oft to Delia in my bosom bear
The secret of our mutual flame.

Some kid, or lamb, that wants its mother's care:
With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day,

When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay: Danon, your prudence I confess,

With her new milk on Pales' altar pour,
But let me wish it had been less;
Too well the lover's part you play'd,

And deck with ripen'd fruits Pomona's bower. With too much art your court you inade;

At night, how soothing would it be to hear,

Safe in her arms, the tempest bowling near; Had it been only art, your eyes

Or, while the wintry clouds their deluge pour, Would not have join'd in the disguise.

Slumber, assisted by the beating shower!
Ah! how much happier, than the fool who braves,

In search of wealth, the black tempesiuous waves! Ah! cease thus idly to molest

While I, contented with my little store,
With groundless fears thy virgin breast.
While thus at fancied wrongs you grieve,

In tedious voyage seek no distant shore;

But, idly Jolling on some shady seat,
To me a real pain you give.

Near cooling fountains shun the dog-star's heat:
For what reward so rich could Fortune give,

That I by absence should my Delia grieve?
Though well I might your truth distrust,

Let great Messalla shine in martial toils, My foolish heart believes you just :

And grace his palace with triumphal spoils ; Reason this faith may disapprove;

Me Beauty holds, in strong though gentle chains, But I believe, because I love.

Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains.
With thee, my love, to pass my tranquil days,

How would I slight Ambition's painful praise !

How would I joy with thee, my love, to yoke

The ox, and feed my solitary flock!

On thy soft breast might I but lean my head,
(O primavera gioventu del anno.)

How downy should I think the woodland bed!

The wretch, who sleeps not by his fair-one's
PARENT of blooming flowers and gay desires,
Youth of the tender year, delightful Spring,

Detests the gilded couch's useless pride,

Nor knows his weary weeping eyes tu close, At whose approach, inspir'd with equal fires,

Though murmuring rills invite him to repose. The amorous nightingale and poet sing !

Hard were his heart, who thee, my fair, could leave

For all the honours prosperous war can give;
Again dost thou return, but not with thee
Return the smiling hours I once possest;

Though through the vanquish'd East be spread his

fame, Blessings thou bring'st to others, but to me

And Parthian tyrants tremble at his name; The sad remembrance that I once was blest.

Though, bright in arms, while hosts around him bleed, Thy faded charms, which Winter snatch'd away,

With martial pride he prest his foaming steed. Renew'd in all their former lustre shine;

No pomps like these my humble vows require; But, ab! no more shall hapless I be gay,

With thee I 'll live, and in thy arms expire. Or know the vernal joys that have been mine.

Thee may my closing eyes in death behold!

Thee may my faultering hand yet strive to hold !
Though linnets sing, though fowers adorn the green, Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow;

Then, Delia, then, thy heart will melt in woe,
Though on their wings soft Zephyrs fragrance bear: | Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind,
Harsh is the music, joyless is the scene,
The odour faint: for Delia is not there.

Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind.

But, ab ! fair mourner, I coujure thee, spare Cheerless and cold I feel the genial Sun,

Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevell’d hair: From thee while absent I in exile rove;

Wound not thy form ; lest on th' Elysian coast

Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost. Thy lovely presence, fairest light, alone

But now nor death nor parting should employ
Can warm my heart to gladness and to love.

Our sprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy :
We'll live, my Delia ; and from life remove

All care, all business, but delightful love.
PARTS OF AN ELEGY OF TIBULLUS. Old age in vain those pleasures would retrieve
TRANSLATED, 1729-30.

Which youth alone can taste, alone can give : (Divitias alius fulvo sibi congerat auro.)

Then let us snatch the moment to be blest,

This hour is Love's--be Fortune's all the rest.
Let others heap of wealth a shining store,
And, much possessing, labour still for more;
Let them, disquieted with dire alarms,
Aspire to win a dangerous fame in arms:



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To both, from courts and all their state,

Eager I fly, to prove

Joys far above a courtier's fate,

Tranquillity and love.
Say, Myra, why is gentle love

A stranger to that mind,
Which pity and esteem can move,
Which can be just and kind ?

Is it, because you fear to share

Once, by the Muse alone inspir'd The ills that love molest;

I sung my amorous strains : The jealous doubt, the tender care,

No serious love my bosom fird; That rack the amorous breast?

Yet every tender maid, deceiv'd,

The idly-mournful tale believ'd,
Alas! by some degree of woe

And wept my fancied pains.
We every bliss must gain :
The heart can ne'er a transport know,

But Venus now, to punish me
That never feels a pain.

For having. feign'd so well,
Has made my heart so fond of thee,
That not the whole Aonian choir
Can accents soft enough inspire,

Its real flame to tell.


Go, Thames, and tell the busy town,

All that of love can be express'd, Not all its wealth or pride

In these soft numbers see; Could tempt me from the charms that crown

But, Lucy, would you know the rest, Thy rural flowery side:

It must be read in me.

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Ah! should I lose thee, my too lovely maid,

Couldst thou forget thy heart was ever mine, Fear not thy letters should the change upbraid ; My hand each dear memorial shall resign :

Your shape, your lips, your eyes, are still the same, Not one kind word shall in my power remain,

Still the bright object of my constant flame; A painful witness of reproach to thee;

But where is now the tender glance, that stole, And lest any heart should still their sense retain,

With gentle sweetness, my enchanted soul?
My heart shall break, to leave thee wholly free. Kind fears, impatient wishes, soft desires,

Each melting charm that love alone inspires?
These, these are lost; and I behold ro more

The maid my heart delighted to adore.

Yet, still unchang'd, still doating to excess,
I ought, but dare not try, to love you less;
Weakly I grieve, unpitied I complain;
But not unpunish'd shall your change remain ;
For you, cold maid, whom no complaints can move,

Were far more blest, when you like me could love. FAIR Venus, whose delightful shrine surveys

Its front reflected in the silver lake,
These humble offerings, which thy servant pays,
Fresh flowers, and myrtle wreaths, propitious take.

If less my love exceeds all other love,
Than Lucy's charms all other charms excel,

WHEN I think on your truth, I doubt you no more, Far from my breast each soothing hope remove,

I blame all the fears I gave way to before: And there let sad Despair for ever dwell.

I say to my heart, “ Be at rest, and believe

That whom once she has chosen she never will But if my soul is fill'd with her alone;

leave." No other wish nor other object knows : Oh! make her, goddess, make her all my own,

But, ah! when I think on each ravishing grace And give my trembling heart secure repose !

That plays in the smiles of that heavenly face;

My heart beats again; I again apprehend
No watchful spies I ask, to guard her charms,

Some fortunate rival in every friend.
No walls of brass, no steel-defended door:
Place her but once within my circling arms,

These painful suspicions you cannot remove, Love's surest fort, and I will doubt no more.

Since you neither can lessen your charms nor my

love; But doubts caus’d by passion you never can blame; For they are not ill founded, or you feel the same

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" It was not thus, inconstant maid ! You acted once," the shepherd said,

“When love was in its prime:” She griev'd to bear him thus complain; and would bave writ, to ease his pain,

But that she had not time.
“How can you act so cold a part?
No crime of mine has chang'd your heart,

If love be not a crime.
We soon must part for months, for years"--
She would have answer'd with her tears,

But that she had not time.


Ye sylvan scenes with artless beauty gay,

Ye gentle shades of Wickham, say,
What is the charm that each successive year,

Which sees me with my Lucy here,

Can thus to my transported heart
A sense of joy unfelt before, impart?

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