The gentle Thames, that rarely Paffion knows,
Swells with this Sorrow, and her Banks o'erflows
What Shrieks are heard? what Groans? whatdying Cries?
Ev'n Nature's felf in dire Convulfions lies!
Delia, the Queen of Love, they All deplore!

Delia, the Queen of Beauty, now no more!

O! why did I furvive the fatal Day,st and of twoⱭ
That fnatch'd the Joys of all my Life away 2 werd
Why was not I beneath fome Ruin loftas
Sunk in the Seas, or Shipwreck'd on the Coaft?
Why did the
Fates fpare this devoted Head?"
Why did I live to hear that Thou wert dead?'
By Thee my Griefs were calm'd, my Torments eas'ds
Nor knew I Pleasure but as Thou wert pleas'd.
Where shall I wander now, diftrefs'd, alone

What Ufe have I of Life, now Thou art
I have no Ufe, alas! but to deplore

Delia, the Pride of Beauty, now no more!

gone?

What living Nymph is blefs'd with equal Grace
All may difpute, but who can fill thy Place?
What Lover in his Mistress hopes to find

A Form fo lovely, with fo bright a Mind?
Doris may boaft a Face divinely Fair,

But wants thy Shape, thy Motions, and thy Air.
Lucinda has thy Shape, but not thofe Eyes,
That while they did th' admiring World furprife,
Difclos'd the fecret Luftre of thy Mind,

And feem'd each Lover's inmoft Thoughts to find.
Others, whofe Beauty yielding Swains confefs,
By Indiscretion make their Conqueft lefs, fun
And want thy Conduct and obliging Wit
To fix thofe Slaves who to their Chains fubmitoge A
As fome rich Tyrant hoards an ufelefs Store,"
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That would, well plac'd, inrich a Thousand more:
So did'st thou keep a Crowd of Charms retir'd 1)
Would make a Thoufand other Nymphs admir'd.

Gay,

Gay, Modeft, Artlefs, Beautiful and Young, sinen
Slow to Refolve; in Refolution Strong
afte

To All obliging; yet referv'd to All; muzsikeress
None could himself the favour'd Lover call:
That which alone could make his Hopes. endure,
Was, that he faw no other Swain fecure..
Whither, ah! whither are thofe Graces fled?
Down to the dark, the melancholy Shade by w
Now, Shepherds, now lament! and now deplore!
Delia is Dead, and Beauty is no more!

For Thee each tuneful Swain prepar'd his Lays, His Fame exalting while he fung thy Praife.” Thyrfis, in gay and eafy Measures ftrove, yn d To charm thy Ears and tune thy Soul to Love LoveK OM Menalcas, in his Numbers more Sublime, et d Extoll'd thy Virtues in immortal Rhime. D§ Glycon whofe Satire kept the World in Awe, 1 Soften'd his Strain, when first thy Charms he faw, Confefs'd the Goddefs who new-form'd his Mind, Proclaim'd thy Beauties and forgot Mankind.

Ceafe, Shepherds, ceafe; the Charms you fung are fled,
The Glory of our blafted Ifle is dead.

Now join your Griefs with mine! and now deplore
Delia, the Pride of Beauty, now no more!

Behold where now the lies, depriv'd of Breath!
Charming tho' Pale, and beautiful in Death!
A Troop of weeping Virgins by her Side;
With all the Pomp of Woe and Sorrows Pride!.
O, early loft! O, fitter to be led

In chearful Splendor to the Bridal-Bed!
Than thus conducted to th' untimely Tomb,
A Spotless Virgin in her Beauty's Bloom!
Whatever hopes fuperior Merit gave,

2

I

Let me, at leaft, embrace Thee in the Grave;
On thy cold Lips imprint a dying Kifs:
cold
O that thy Coynefs could refufe me This!

Such

Such melting Tears upon thy Limbs I'll pour,

Shall thaw their Numbnefs, and thy Warmth reflore, Clafpt to my glowing Breaft, Thou may'ft revive; I'll breathe fuch tender Sighs fhall make Thee live Or if feverer Fates that Aid deny,

If thou can'ft not Revive, yet I may Die.

In one cold Grave tegether may be laid,
The trueft Lover, and the lovelieft Maid.

Then fhall I ceafe to Grieve, and not before H
Then fhall I ceafe fair Delia to deplore.

But fee, those dreadful Objects difappear!

The Sun fhines out, and all the Heav'ns are clear:
The warring Winds are hufh'd, the Sea ferene G
And Nature soften'd, fhifts her angry Scene.

What means this fudden Change? methinks I hear,
Melodious Mufic from the heav'nly Sphere! mit 135
Liften, ye Shepherds, and devour the Sound!
Liften, the Saint, the lovely Saint, is crown'd
While we, mistaken in our Joy and Grief,
Bewail her Fate, who wants not our Relief:
From the pleas'd Orbs fhe views us here below,
And with kind Pity wonders at our Woe.

Ah, charming Saint!, fince thou art bless'd Above,
Indulge thy Lovers, and forgive their Love.

Forgive their Tears, who prefs'd with Grief and Care, Feel not thy Joys, but feel their own Despair,

HORACE,

HORACE, ODE III Book III. Imitated, 1705.

I.

THE Man that's Refolute and Juft,

Firm to his Principles and Truft,

Nor Hopes nor Fears can blind;
No Paffions his Defigns control,
Not Love, that Tyrant of the Soul,
Can fhake his fteddy Mind..

II.

Not Parties for Revenge ingag'd,
Nor Threat'nings of a Court inrag'd,
Nor Storms where Fleets defpair:
Not Thunder pointed at his Head;
The fhatter'd World may ftrike him dead,
Not touch his Soul with Fear.

III.

From this the Grecian Glory rose,

By this the Romans aw'd their Foes:
Of this their Poets fing.

These were the Paths their Heroes trod,
Thefe Acts made Hercules a God;
And Great Naffau a King.

IV.

Firm on the rolling Deck he ftood,
Unmov'd, beheld the breaking Flood,
With black'ning Storms combin'd:
Virtue, he cry'd, will force its Way;
The Wind may for a while delay,
Not alter our Defign.

V.

The Men whom felfifb Hopes inflame,
Or Vanity allures to Fame,

May be to Fears betray'd:

But here a Church for Succour flies, con
Infulted Law expiring lies,

And loudly calls for Aid.

VI.

Yes, Britons, yes, with ardent Zeal,
I come, the wounded Heart to heal,
The wounded Hand to bind:
See Tools of Arbitrary Sway,
And Priefts, like Locufis, fcout away
Before the Western Wind.

VII.

Law fhall again her Force refume;
Religion, clear'd from Clouds of Rome,
With brighter Rays advance.

The British Fleet fhall rule the Deep,
The British Youth, as rous'd from Sleep,
Strike Terror into France.

VIII,

Nor fhall thefe Promises of Fate
Be limited to my short Date:›

When I from Cares withdraw,
Still ball the British Scepter ftand,
Still flourish in a Female Hand,
And to Mankind give Law.

IX.

She fhall Domeftic Foes unite,
Monarchs beneath her Flags hall fight,

Whole Armies drag her Chain :
She fhall loft Italy reftore,

Shall make th' Imperial Eagle fear,

And give a King to Spain.