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With numbers he the flying nymph pursues;
With numbers, such as Phoebus' self might use !
Such is the chase, when Love and Fancy leads,
O'er craggy mountains, and through flowery meads;
Invok'd to testify the lover's care,

Or form some image of his cruel fair.
Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer,
O'er these he fled; and now approaching near,
Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay,
Whom all his charms could not incline to stay.
Yet, what he sung in his immortal strain,
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain:
All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion, and approve his song.
Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with bays.

FABULA PHŒBI ET DAPHNES.

ARCADIA juvenis Thyrsis, Phœbique sacerdos,
Ingenti frustra Sacharissæ ardebat amore.
Haud Deus ipse olim Daphni majora canebat;
Nec fuit asperior Daphne, nec pulchrior illâ :
Carminibus Phoebo dignis premit ille fugacem
Per rupes, per saxa, volans per florida vates
Pascua formosam nunc his componere nympham,
Nunc illis crudelem insanâ mente solebat.
Audiit illa procul miserum, cytharamque sonantem;
Audîît, at nullis respexit mota querelis!
Ne tamen omnino caneret desertus, ad alta
Sidera perculsi referunt nova carmina montes.
Sic, non quæsitis cumulatus laudibus, olim
Elapsâ reperit Daphne sua laurea Phoebus.

SONG.

SAY, lovely dream! where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face?

Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

In heaven itself thou sure wert drest
With that angel-like disguise :
Thus deluded am I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

But ah! this image is too kind
To be other than a dream:

Cruel Sacharissa's mind

Never put on that sweet extreme!

Fair Dream! if thou intend'st me grace,

Change that heavenly face of thine;

Paint despis'd love in thy face,

And make it to appear like mine.

Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,
With a pity-moving shape;
Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.

Then to that matchless nymph appear,
In whose shape thou shinest so;
Softly in her sleeping ear,

With humble words express my woe.

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,
Thus surprised, she may fall:

Sleep does disproportion hide,

And, death resembling, equals all.

TO MRS. BRAUGHTON,

SERVANT TO SACHARISSA.

FAIR fellow-servant! may your gentle ear
Prove more propitious to my slighted care,
Than the bright dame's we serve: for her relief
(Vex'd with the long expressions of my grief)
Receive these plaints: nor will her high disdain
Forbid my humble muse to court her train.

So, in those nations which the sun adore,
Some modest Persian, or some weak-ey'd Moor,
No higher dares advance his dazzled sight,
Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light
Of their ascending God adorns the east,
And, graced with his beams, out-shines the rest.
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets those arrows which confound us so;
A thousand Cupids in those curls do sit,
(Those curious nets!) thy slender fingers knit
The graces put not more exactly on
Th' attire of Venus, when the ball she won:
Than Sacharissa by thy care is drest,
When all our youth prefers her to the rest.

You the soft season know, when best her mind May be to pity or to love inclin'd:

In some well-chosen hour supply his fear,
Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear
Of that stern goddess: you, her priest, declare
What offerings may propitiate the fair:
Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay,
Or polish'd lines, which longer last than they.
For if I thought she took delight in those,
To where the cheerful morn does first disclose,
(The shady night removing with her beams)
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch such gems.
But since her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines, or fishes' shells;
Her nobler part as far exceeding these,
None but immortal gifts her mind should please.
The shining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd
On Sparta's Queen, her lovely neck did load,
And snowy wrists: but when the town was burn'd,
Those fading glories were to ashes turn'd:
Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame,
Had not the muse redeem'd them from the flame.

AT PENS-HURST.

WHILE in the park I sing, the listening deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear:
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the same:
To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers
With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.
To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!
Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign
Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain
He 7 sprung, that could so far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love or high desire,
Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire.
Nor call her mother, who so well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love.
Never can she, that so exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be suppos'd to bring

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One so destructive: to no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness; but the rock,
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose side
Nature, to recompense the fatal pride

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Which not more help, than that destruction brings.
Thy heart, no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan
Melt to compassion: now, my traiterous song
With thee conspires, to do the singer wrong;
We thus I suffer not myself to lose

The memory of what augments my woes;
But with my own breath still foment the fire,
Which fames as high as fancy can aspire!
This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce
Of just Apollo, president of verse;

Highly concerned that the muse should bring
Damage to one, whom he had taught to sing;
The be advis'd me: "On yon aged tree
Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea;
That there with wonders thy diverted mind
Se truce at least may with this passion find."
cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain
Flies for relief unto the raging main;

And from the winds and tempests does expect
A milder fate, than from her cold neglect!
Yet there he'll pray, that the unkind may prove
Best in her choice; and vows this endless love
Sprogs from no hope of what she can confer,
Bt from those gifts which Heaven has heap'd on her.

TO MY

YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY.

Wry came I so untimely forth

Into a world, which, wanting thee,
Could entertain us with no worth,
Or shadow of felicity?

That time should me so far remove
From that which I was born to love!
Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight

That age which you may know so soon:
The rosy morn resigns her light,

And milder glory, to the noon:
And then what wonders shall you do,
Whose dawning beauty warms us so?
Hope waits upon the flowery prime;
And summer, though it be less gay,
Yet is not look'd on as a time

Of declination, or decay:

For, with a full band, that does bring
All that was promis'd by the spring.

If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains:
But for Sacharissa I

Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine,
Sacharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain;
And, those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.

If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection;
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn:
But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!

If not a love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire
In my breast, solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.

"Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move :
If less splendour wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy:
Which how eas'ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas'ly scal'd) does know!
Amoret! as sweet and good
As the most delicious food,
Which, but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.
Sacharissa's beauty's wine,
Which to madness doth incline
Such a liquor, as no brain
That is mortal can sustain.

Scarce can I to Heaven excuse
The devotion, which I use
Unto that adored dame:
For 'tis not unlike the same,
Which I thither ought to send.
So that if it could take end,
"Twould to Heaven itself be due,
To succeed her, and not you:
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry:

Which, though not so fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the same.

Then smile on me, and I will prove Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love.

TO AMORET.

Fin! that you may truly know,
What you unto Thyrsis owe;
Ivill tell you how I do
Sacharissa love, and you.
Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest eyes on Amoret:
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.

* Tunbridge Wells.

ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT

SACHARISSA AND AMORET.

TELL me, lovely loving pair!
Why so kind, and so severe ?
Why so careless of our care,
Only to yourselves so dear?

By this cunning change of hearts,
You the power of Love control;
While the boy's deluded darts
Can arrive at neither soul.
For in vain to either breast
Still beguiled Love does come:
Where he finds a foreign guest;
Neither of your hearts at home.

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AH, lovely Amoret, the care

Of all that know what's good, or fair!
Is Heaven become our rival too?
Had the rich gifts, confer'd on you
So amply thence, the common end
Of giving lovers,-to pretend?

Hence, to this pining sickness (meant
To weary thee to a consent
Of leaving us) no power is given,
Thy beauties to impair: for Heaven
Solicits thee with such a care,
As roses from the stalks we tear;
When we would still preserve them new,
And fresh, as on the bush they grew.

With such a grace you entertain,
And look with such contempt on pain,
That, languishing, you conquer more,
And wound us deeper than before.
So lightnings, which in storms appear,
Scorch more than when the skies are clear.

And as pale sickness does invade Your frailer part, the breaches made In that fair lodging, still more clear Make the bright guest, your soul, appear. So nymphs, o'er pathless mountains borne, Their light robes by the brambles torn From their fair limbs, exposing new And unknown beauties to the view Of following gods, increase their flame, And haste, to catch the flying game.

UPON THE

DEATH OF MY LADY RICH. MAY those already curs'd Essexian plains, Where hasty death and pining sickness reigns, Prove all a desert! and none there make stay, But savage beasts, or men as wild as they! There the fair light, which all our island grac'd, Like Hero's taper in the window plac'd, Such fate from the malignant air did find, As that exposed to the boisterous wind.

Ah, cruel Heaven! to snatch so soon away
Her, for whose life, had we had time to pray,
With thousand vows, and tears, we should have sought
That sad decree's suspension to have wrought.
But we, alas! no whisper of her pain

Heard, till 'twas sin to wish her here again.
That horrid word, at once, like lightning spread,
Strook all our ears-the Lady Rich is dead!
Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few,
Who her resemble, and her steps pursue:
That Death should licence have to rage among
The fair, the wise, the virtuous, and the young!
The Paphian queen9 from that fierce battle borne,
With goared hand, and veil so rudely torn,
Like terrour did among th' immortals breed;
Taught by her wound, that goddesses may bleed.
All stand amazed! but beyond the rest

Th' heroic dame 10, whose happy womb she blest,
Mov'd with just grief, expostulates with Heaven;
Urging the promise to th' obsequious given,
Of longer life; for ne'er was pious soul
More apt t'obey, more worthy to control.
A skilful eye at once might read the race
Of Caledonian monarchs in her face,
And sweet humility: her look and mind
At once were lofty, and at once were kind.
There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too,
For those that did what she disdain'd to do:
So gentle and severe, that what was bad,
At once her hatred, and her pardon had.
Gracious to all; but where her love was due,
So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true,
That a bold hand as soon might hope to force
The rolling lights of heaven, as change her course,
Some happy angel, that beholds her there,
Instruct us to record what she was here!

And when this cloud of sorrow's over-blown,
Through the wide world we'll make her graces

known.

So fresh the wound is, and the grief so vast,
That all our art, and power of speech, is waste.
Here passion sways, but there the muse shall raise
Eternal monuments of louder praise.

There our delight, complying with her fame,
Shall have occasion to recite thy name,
Fair Sacharissa!—and now only fair!
To sacred friendship we'll an altar rear,
(Such as the Romans did erect of old)
Where, on a marble pillar, shall be told
The lovely passion each to other bare,
With the resemblance of that matchless pair.
Narcissus, to the thing for which he pin'd,
Was not more like, than your's to her fair mind
Save that she grac'd the several parts of life,
A spotless virgin, and a faultless wife;

9 Venus. 10 Christian countess of Devonshire.

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Sach was the sweet converse 'twixt her and you, As that she holds with her associates now.

How false is Hope, and how regardless Fate,
That such a love should have so short a date!
Lately I saw her sighing part from thee:
(Alas, that such the last farewell should be!)
So look'd Astræa, her remove design'd,
On those distressed friends she left behind.
Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast,
That still the knot, in spite of death, does last:
For, as your tears, and sorrow-wounded soul,
Prove well, that on your part this bond is whole:
So, all we know of what they do above,
Is that they happy are, and that they love.
Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave,
Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have:
Well-chosen love is never taught to die,
But with our nobler part invades the sky.
Then grieve no more, that one so heavenly shap'd
The crooked band of trembling age escap'd.
Rather, since we beheld her not decay,
But that she vanish'd so entire away,

Ber wondrous beauty, and her goodness, merit,
We should suppose, that some propitious spirit
In that celestial form frequented here;
And is not dead, but ceases to appear.

THE

BATTLE OF THE SUMMER-ISLANDS. CANTO L

What fruits they have, and how Heaven smiles [pon those late-discover'd isles.

An me, Bellona! while the dreadful fight,
Betwixt a nation, and two whales, I write :
Seas stain'd with gore I sing, adventurous toil!
And how these monsters did disarm an isle.
Bermuda, wall'd with rocks, who does not know?
That happy island! where huge lemons grow,
And orange-trees, which golden fruit do bear;
Th' Hesperian garden boasts of none so fair:
Where shining pearl, coral, and many a pound,
On the rich shore, of ambergris is found.
The lofty cedar, which to heaven aspires,
The prince of trees! is fuel for their fires:

The smoke, by which their loaded spits do turn,
For incense might on sacred altars burn:
Their private roofs on odorous timber borne,
Such as might palaces for kings adorn.
The sweet palmitoes a new Bacchus yield,
With leaves as ample as the broadest shield :
Under the shadow of whose friendly boughs
They sit, carousing where their liquor grows.
Figs there unplanted through the fields do grow,
Such as fierce Cato did the Romans show;
With the rare fruit inviting them to spoil
Carthage, the mistress of so rich a soil.
The naked rocks are not unfruitful there,
But, at some constant seasons, every year,
Their barren tops with luscious food abound;
And with the eggs of various fowls are crown'd.
Tobacco is the worst of things, which they
To English landlords, as their tribute, pay.
Soch is the mould, that the blest tenant feeds
On precious fruits, and pays his rent in weeds.
With candy'd plantains, and the juicy pine,
On choicest melons, and sweet grapes, they dine:
And with potatoes fat their wanton swine.

Nature these cates with such a lavish hand
Pours out among them, that our coarser land
Tastes of that bounty, and does cloth return,
Which not for warmth, but ornament, is worn:
For the kind Spring, which but salutes us here,
Inhabits there, and courts them all the year:
Ripe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live;
At once they promise, what at once they give.
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime,
None sickly lives, or dies before his time.
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncurst,
To show how all things were created first.
The tardy plants, in our cold orchards plac'd,
Reserve their fruit for the next age's taste:
There, a small grain, in some few months, will be
A firm, a lofty, and a spacious tree.
The palma-christi, and the fair papà,
Now but a seed (preventing Nature's law)
In half the circle of the hasty year
Project a shade, and lovely fruits do wear.
And as their trees, in our dull region set,
But faintly grow, and no perfection get;
So, in this northern tract, our hoarser throats
Utter unripe and ill-constrained notes:
While the supporter of the poet's style,
Phoebus, on them eternally does smile.
Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay
Under the plantain's shade; and all the day
With amorous airs my fancy entertain;
Invoke the muses, and improve my vein!
No passion there in my free breast should move,
None but the sweet, and best of passions, love.
There will I sing, if gentle Love be by,

That tunes my lute, and winds the string so high;
With the sweet sound of Sacharissa's name,
I'll make the listening savages grow tame.

But while I do these pleasing dreams indite,,
I am diverted from the promis'd fight.

CANTO IL

Of their alarm, and how their foes Discover'd were, this canto shows. THOUGH rocks so high about this island rise, That well they may the numerous Turk despise; Yet is no human fate exempt from fear; Which shakes their hearts, while through the isle A lasting noise, as horrid and as loud [they hear As thunder makes, before it breaks the cloud. Three days they dread this murmur, ere they know From what blind cause th' unwonted sound may At length two monsters of unequal size, [grow: Hard by the shore, a fisherman espies; Two mighty whales! which swelling seas had tost, And left them prisoners on the rocky coast. One, as a mountain vast; and with her came A cub, not much inferior to his dam. Here, in a pool among the rocks engag'd, They roar'd, like lions caught in toils, and rag'd. The man knew what they were, who heretofore Had seen the like lie murther'd on the shore: By the wild fury of some tempest cast, The fate of ships, and shipwreck'd men, to taste. As careless dames, whom wine and sleep betray To frantic dreams, their infants overlay : So there sometimes the raging ocean fails, And her own brood exposes; when the whales, Against sharp rocks, like reeling vessels, quash'd, Though huge as mountains, are in pieces dash'd: Along the shore their dreadful limbs lie scatter'd ; Like hillswith earthquakes shaken, torn, and latter'd.

Hearts, sure, of brass they had, who tempted first Rude seas, that spare not what themselves have

nurst.

The welcome news, through all the nation spread,
To sudden joy, and hope, converts their dread:
What lately was their public terrour, they
Behold with glad eyes as a certain prey :
Dispose already of th' untaken spoil;
And, as the purchase of their future toil,
These share the bones, and they divide the oil.
So was the huntsman by the bear opprest,
Whose hide he sold-before he caught the beast!
They man their boats, and all the young men
With whatsoever may the monsters harm; [arm
Pikes, halberts, spits, and darts that wound so far;
The tools of peace, and instruments of war.
Now was the time for vigorous lads to show
What love, or honour, could invite them to:
A goodly theatre! where rocks are round
With reverend age, and lovely lasses, crown'd.
Such was the lake which held this dreadful pair,
Within the bounds of noble Warwick's share :
Warwick's bold earl! than which no title bears
A greater sound among our British peers.
And worthy he the memory to renew,
The fate and honour, to that title due;
Whose brave adventures have transfer'd his name,
And through the new world spread his growing
fame.
[gain'd,
But how they fought, and what their valour
Shall in another canto be contain'd.

CANTO III.

The bloody fight, successless toil, And how the fishes sack'd the isle. THE boat, which on the first assault did go, Strook with a harping-ir'n the younger foe: Who, when he felt his side so rudely goar'd, Loud, as the sea that nourish'd him, he roar'd, As a broad bream to please some curious taste, While yet alive, in boiling water cast, Vex'd with unwonted heat, he flings about The scorching brass, and hurls the liquor out: So, with the barbed javelin stung, he raves, And scourges with his tail the suffering waves. Like Spenser's Talus with his iron flail, He threatens ruin with his ponderous tail; Dissolving at one stroke the batter'd boat, And down the men fall drenched in the moat: With every fierce encounter they are forc'd To quit their boats, and fare like men unhors'd. The bigger whale like some huge carack lay, Which wanteth sea-room with her foes to play: Slowly she swims, and when provok'd she would Advance her tail, her head salutes the mud: The shallow water doth her force infringe, And renders vain her tail's impetuous swinge: The shining steel her tender sides receive, And there, like bees, they all their weapons leave. This sees the cub, and does himself oppose Betwixt his cumber'd mother and her foes: With desperate courage he receives her wounds, And men and boats his active tail confounds. Their forces join'd, the seas with billows fill, And make a tempest, though the winds be still. Now would the men with half their hoped prey Be well content; and wish this cub away: Their wish they have; he (to direct his dam Unto the gap through which they thither came)

Before her swims, and quits the hostile lake;
A prisoner there, but for his mother's sake.
She, by the rocks compell'd to stay behind,
Is by the vastness of her bulk confin'd.
They shout for joy! and now on her alone
Their fury falls, and all their darts are thrown.
Their lances spent, one, bolder than the rest,
With his broad sword provok'd the sluggish beast;
Her oily side devours both blade and heft:
And there his steel the bold Bermudan left.
Courage the rest from his example take,
And now they change the colour of the lake:
Blood flows in rivers from her wounded side,
As if they would prevent the tardy tide,
And raise the flood to that propitious height,
As might convey her from this fatal streight :
She swims in blood, and blood does spouting throw
To Heaven, that Heaven men's cruelties might know.
Their fixed javelins in her sides she wears,
And on her back a grove of pikes appears:
You would have thought, had you the monster seen
Thus drest, she had another island been.
Roaring she tears the air with such a noise,
As well resembled the conspiring voice
Of routed armies, when the field is won;
To reach the ears of her escaped son.
He, though a league removed from the foe,
Hastes to her aid: the pious Trojan 1 so,
Neglecting for Creüsa's life his own,
Repeats the danger of the burning town.
The men amazed blush'd to see the seed
Of monsters, human piety exceed.

I

Well proves this kindness what the Grecian sung,
That Love's bright mother from the ocean sprung.
Their courage droops, and hopeless now they wish
For composition with th' unconquer'd fish:
So she their weapons would restore, again
Through rocks they'd hew her passage to the main.
But how instructed in each other's mind?

Or what commerce can men with monsters find?
Nor daring to approach their wounded foe,
Whom her courageous son protected so;
They charge their musquets, and with hot desire
Of fell revenge, renew the fight with fire:
Standing aloof, with lead they bruise the scales,
And tear the flesh, of the incensed whales.
But no success their fierce endeavours found,
Nor this way could they give one fatal wound.
Now to their fort they are about to send,
For the loud engines, which their isle defend:
But what those pieces, fram'd to batter walls,
Would have effected on those mighty whales,
Great Neptune will not have us know; who sends
A tide so high, that it relieves his friends.
And thus they parted with exchange of harms;
Much blood the monsters lost, and they their arms.

SONG.

PEACE, babbling muse!

I dare not sing what you indite;
Her eyes refuse

To read the passion which they write <
She strikes my lute, but, if it sound,
Threatens to hurl it on the ground:
And I no less her anger dread,
Than the poor wretch that feigns him dead,

1 Æneas.

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