She, with the Spheres Harmonious, nightly leads
The mazy Dance, and hears their matchless Strain,
A Strain for Gods! Deny'd to mortal Ear!
Tranfmit it heard, Thou Silver Queen of Heaven!
What Title, or what Name endears thee more?
Cynthia! Selene! Phœbe !——or doft hear
With higher guft, fair P——d of the Skies ?
Is that the foft Enchantment calls thee down,
More pow'rful than of old Circean charm?
Come; but from Heav'nly Banquets with thee bring
The Soul of Song; and whisper in mine ear
The Theft divine; or in propitious Dreams,
(For Dreams are Thine) transfufe it thro' the breast
Of thy first Votary; -But not thy last;
If, like thy Name-fake, Thou art ever Kind.

And Kind Thou wilt be; Kind on fuch a Theme;
A Theme fo like thee, a quite Lunar Theme,
Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair!

A Theme that rose all-pale, and told my foul,
"Twas Night; on her fond Hopes perpetual Night !
A Night which struck a damp, a deadlier damp,
Than that which smote me from Philander's tomb.
Narciffa follows, e'er His tomb is clos'd.

Woes cluster; rare are folitary Woes;

They love a Train: they tread each other's Heel :
Her Death invades His mournful right, and claims
The Grief that started from my Lids for Him :
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated Tear,

Or shares it, e'er It falls. So frequent Death,
Sorrow, He more than causes, He confounds;
For human Sighs his rival Strokes contend,
And make Diftrefs Diftraction. Oh Philander!
What was thy Fate? A double Fate to me;
Portent, and Pain! a Menace, and a Blow!
Like the black Raven hov'ring o'er my Peace,
Not less a Bird of Omen, than of Prey.

It

!

1

It call'd Narciffa long before her Hour;

It call'd her tender Soul, by Break of bliss,
From the first Bloffom, from the Buds of Joy;
Those Few our noxious Fate unblafted leaves,
In this inclement Clime of human life.

Sweet Harmonist! and Beautiful as sweet!
And young as beautiful! and Soft as young!
And Gay as foft! and Innocent as gay!

And Happy (if aught Happy here) as Good!
For Fortune fond had built her neft on High:
Like Birds quite exquifite of note and Plume,
Transfixt by Fate (who loves a lofty Mark)
How from the Summit of the Grove fhe fell,
And left it Unharmonious? All its Charm
Extinguish'd in the Wonders of her Song !
Her Song ftill vibrates in my ravish'd Ear,
Still melting There, and with voluptuous Pain
(O to forget her !) trilling thro' my Heart!

Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy! this Group
Of bright Ideas, Flow'rs of Paradife

As yet unforfeit ! in one blaze we bind,

Kneel, and present it to the Skies; as All

We guess of Heaven: And these were all her Own:
And fhe was mine; and I was-was most blest,—
Gay Title of the deepest Misery!

As bodies grow more pond'rous, rob'd of Life
Good loft weighs more in Grief, than Gain'd, in Joy.
Like bloffom'd Trees o'erturn'd by vernal Storm

Lovely in Death the beauteous Ruin lay;
And if in Death ftill lovely, Lovelier There ;
Far lovelier! Pity fwells the Tide of Love.
And will not the Severe excufe a Sigh?
Scorn the proud Man that is afham'd to weep;
Our Tears indulg'd indeed deserve our Shame.
Ye that e're loft an Angel! pity me.

Soon

- Soon as the Luftre languish'd in her Eye,
Dawning a dimmer Day on Human Sight;
And on her Cheek, the Refidence of Spring,
Pale Omen fate; and fcatter'd Fears around
On all that faw, (and who could cease to gaze
That once had seen ?) with haste, parental haste,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid North,
Her native Bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the Sun; the Sun
(As if the Sun cou'd envy) check'd his Beam,
Deny'd his wonted Succour, nor with more
Regret, beheld her drooping, than the Bells
Of Lilies; Faireft Lilies! not fo fair.

Queen Lilies! and ye painted Populace!
Who dwell in Fields, and lead ambrofial lives;
In morn, and ev'ning Dew, your beauties bathe,
And drink the Sun; which gives your Cheeks to glow,
And out-blufh (mine excepted) every Fair;

You gladlier grew, ambitious of her Hand,
Which often cropt your Odors, Incense meet
To Thought fo pure; her flow'ry State of Mind
In Joy unfal'n Ye lovely Fugitives!
Coæval race with man! for man you fmile;
Why not Smile at him too? You fhare indeed
His fudden Pafs; but not his conftant Pain.
So man is made, nought ministers delight,
But what his glowing Paffions can engage;
And glowing Paffions bent on aught Below,
Muft, foon or late, with Anguish turn the Scale;
And Anguish after Rapture, how fevere ?
Rapture? bold man? who tempts the wrath divine,
By plucking Fruit deny'd to mortal Tafte,
While Here prefuming on the Rights of Heaven.
For Transport doft Thou call on ev'ry Hour,
Lorenzo? At thy Friend's expence be wife;

Lean not on Earth; 'twill pierce thee to the Heart;
A broken

A broken Reed, at beft; but, oft, a spear;

On its sharp point Peace bleeds, and Hope expires. Turn, hopeless Thought! turn from Her:-Thought repell'd,

Resenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry Woe.

Snatch'd e'er thy Prime! and in thy bridal Hour!
And when kind Fortune, with thy Lover, fmil'd!
And when high-flavour'd thy fresh-op'ning Joys!
And when blind man pronounc'd thy blifs compleat !
And on a Foreign Shore! Where Strangers wept!
Strangers to Thee, and more furprizing ftill,
Strangers to Kindness, wept: Their eyes let fall
Inhuman Tears; strange tears! that trickled down
From marble Hearts! obdurate Tenderness!
A Tenderness that call'd them more fevere,
In Spight of Nature's foft Perfuafion Steel'd:
While Nature melted, Superftition rav'd ;

That mourn'd the Dead; and This deny'd a Grave.
Their Sighs incenft; Sighs foreign to the Will!
Their Will the Tyger fuck'd, outrag'd the Storm:
For oh! the curft Ungodliness of Zeal!
While finful Fleb relented, Spirit nurft
In blind Infallibility's embrace,
The Sainted Spirit petrify'd the breast:
Deny'd the Charity of Duft, to spread
O'er Duft! a charity their Dogs enjoy.
What cou'd I do? what Succour ? what Resource?
With pious Sacrilege, a Grave I stole;

With impious Piety, that Grave I wrong'd;
Short in my Duty; Coward in my Grief!
More like her Murderer, than Friend, I crept,
With foft-fufpended Step, and muffled deep
In midnight Darkness, whisper'd my Laft Sigh.
I whisper'd what shou'd echo thro' their realms;
Nor writ her Name, whofe tomb fhou'd pierce the

Skies.

Prefumptuous

Prefumptuous Fear! How durft I dread her Foes,
While Nature's loudest Dictates I obey'd?
Pardon Neceffity, Bleft Shade! Of Grief,
And Indignation rival bursts I pour'd ;
Half-execration mingled with my Pray'r;
Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd;
Sore-grudg'd the Savage land her Sacred Duft;
Stamp'd the curft Soil; and with Humanity,
(Deny'd Narciffa,) wifh'd them All a Grave.
Glows my Refentment into Guilt? What guilt
Can equal Violations of the Dead?

The Dead how Sacred? Sacred is the Duft
Of this Heav'n-labour'd form, erect, divine!
This Heav'n-affum'd majeftic robe of Earth,
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast Expanfe
With Azure bright, and cloath'd the Sun in Gold.
When ev'ry Paffion fleeps that can offend;
When Strikes us ev'ry Motive that can melt;
When man can reek his rancour uncontroul'd,
That strongest Curb on Infult and Ill-will;
Then, fpleen to Duft? the Duft of Innocence ?
An Angel's Duft!-This Lucifer transcends;
When He contended for the Patriarch's bones,
"Twas not the Strife of Malice, but of Pride;
The Strife of Pontiff Pride, not Pontiff Gall.
Far lefs than This is fhocking in a Race
Moft wretched, but from Streams of mutual Love;
And Uncreated, but for love Divine ;

And but for love Divine, this Moment, loft,
By Fate reforb'd, and funk in endless Night.
Man hard of Heart to man! Of horrid things
Moft horrid! Mid ftupendous, highly strange!
Yet oft his Courtefies are smoother Wrongs;
Pride brandishes the favours He confers,
And contumelious his Humanity :

What then his Vengeance? Hear it not, ye Stars!

And