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Was mark'd the general's prize. She wept, and blufh'd;
Young, freth, and blooming like the morn. An eye,
As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud
Of pureft white. A fecret charm combin'd
Her features, and infus'd inchantment through them..
Her fhape was harmony.-But eloquence
Beneath her beauty fails; which feem'd on purpose
By nature lavith'd on her, that mankind:
Might fee the virtue of a hero tried

Almoft beyond the ftretch of human force.
Soft as the pafs'd along, with downcaft eyes,
Where gentle forrow fwell'd, and, now and then;
Dropp'd o'er her modeft cheeks a trickling tear,
The Roman legions languifl'd, and hard war
Felt more than pity: even their chief himself,
As on his high tribunal rais'd he fat,

Turn'd from the dangerous fight; and, chiding, afk'd
His officers, if by this gift they meant

To cloud his glory in its very dawn.

She, queftion'd of her birth, in trembling accents,

With tears and blushes, broken, told her tale.
But, when he found her royally defcended
Of her old captive parents the fole joy;
And that a hapless Celtiberian prince,
Her lover and belov'd, forgot his chains,
His loft dominions, and for her alone
Wept out his tender foul; fudden the heart

Of this young, conquering, loving, godlike Roman,
Felt all the great divinity of virtue.

His wishing youth ftood check'd, his tempting power,›
Reftrain'd by kind humanity.-At once

He for her parents and her lover call'd.

The various fcene imagine. How his troops

Look'd dubious on, and wonder'd what he meant; -
While, ftretch'd below, the trembling fuppliants lay; ›
Rack'd by a thoufand mingling paffions-fear,
Hope, jealoufy, difdain, fubmiffion, grief,
Anxiety, and love in every shape.

To thefe as different fentiments fucceeded,
As mix'd emotions, when the man divine
Thus the dread filence to the lover broke..

2

We both are young; both charm'd. The right of war

Has

Has put thy beauteous mistress in my power;
With whom I could, in the moit facred ties,
Live out a happy life. But, know, that Romans,
Their hearts, as well as enemies can conquer.
Then, take her to thy foul: and, with her, take
Thy liberty and kingdom. In return,

I afk but this when you behold thefe eyes,
Thefe charms with tranfport, be a friend to Rome,"
Ecftatic wonder held the lovers mute;

While the loud camp, and all the cluft'ring crowd
That hung around, rang with repeated fhouts.
Fame took the alarm, and through refounding Spain
Blew fast the fair report; which, more than arms,
Admiring nations to the Romans gain'd.

Xil. Pope's humorous Complaint to Dr Arbuthnot of the
Impertinence of Scribblers.

SHUT, fhut the door, good John !-fatigu'd, I faid:
Tie up
the knocker; fay, I'm fick, I'm dead.
The dog-ftar rages! nay, 'tis paft a doubt,
All bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,

They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what fhades can hide?

They pierce my thickets; through my grot they glide :
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They ftop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is facred; not the chich is free;
Even Sunday fhines no Sabbath day to me:
Then, from the mint walks forth the man of rhyme-
"Happy to catch me-jult at dinner-time."

Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted-many an idle fong)
What drop or noftrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire dilemma either way I'm fped:

If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be filent, and who will not lie.
To laugh were want of goodness and of grace;
And to be grave exceeds all pow'r of face.
I fit with fad civility; I read

With ferious anguish and an aching head:
Then drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

This faving counfel" Keep your piece nine years."-
Nine years!" (cries he, who, high in Drury-Lane,
Lull'd by foft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,
Oblig'd by hunger-and request of friends);
"The piece, you think, is incorrect. Why, take it:
I'm all fubmiffion; what you'd have it, make it."
Three things another's modeft wishes bound-
My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.
Pitholeon fends to me" You know his Grace:
I want a patron-ask him for a place."

"Pitholeon libell'd me"-" But here's a letter
Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better."
Blefs me! a packet!" "Tis a stranger fues;
A virgin-tragedy, an orphan mufe."

If I didike it--"Furies, death, and rage !"
If I approve" Commend it to the ftage."
There, thank my ftars! my whole commiffion ends:
The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends.

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Fir'd that the houfe reject him--"'Sdeath! I'H print it, And fhame the fools-Your int'reft, Sir, with Lintot." "Lintot (dull rogue!) will think your price too much.""Not if you, Sir, revife it and retouch."

All

my demurs but double his attacks:

At last he whispers-" Do, and we go fnacks."
Glad of a quarrel, ftraight I clap, the door-
14 Sir, let me fee you and your works no more."
There are who to my perfon pay their court &
I cough like Horace; and, though lean, am fhort:
Ammon's great fon one fhoulder had too high;
Such Ovid's nofe; and-" Sir, you have an eye.”-
Go on, obliging creatures; make me fee
All that difgrac'd my betters met in me.
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Juft fo immortal Maro held his head;
And when I die, be fure you let me know
Great Homer died-three thousand years ago.

XIII. Hymn

XIII. Hymn to Adversity.

DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,

Whose iron fcourge and torturing hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best !
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When firft thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade thee form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore :
What forrow was, thou bad'st her know,

And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' woe,

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy;
And leave us leifure to be good.

Light they difperfe, and with them go

The fummer Friend, the flatt'ring Foe,

By vain Profperity receiv'd;

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ❜d.

Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapturous thought profound,

And Melancholy, filent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

Still on thy folemn steps attend:

Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend;

With Justice, to herself severe ;

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,

Dread goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand!

Not in thy Gorgon terrours clad,

Nor circled with the vengefa band

(As by the impious thou art feen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,

With fcreaming Horrour's funeral cry,

Defpair, and fell Difeafe, and ghaftly Poverty.

Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear;
Thy milder influence impart ;
Thy philofophic train be there,
To foften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous fpark, extinct, revive;
Teach me to love and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to fcan;

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What others are, to feel; and know myself a man.
XIV. The Paffions. An ODE.

WHEN Mufic, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece the fung,

The Paffions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffefs'd beyond the Mufe's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Difturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis faid, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, infpir'd,
From the fupporting myrtles round
They fnatch'd her inftruments of found;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each (for madnefs rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expreffive power:
First, Fear, his hand, its kill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Even at the found himfelf had made.

Next, Anger rufh'd, his eyes on fire:
In lightnings own'd his fecret fings.
In one rude clash he struck the lyre-
And fwept, with hurry'd hands, the ftrings.
With woful measures, wan Defpair-
Low fullen founds his grief beguild:
A folemn, ftrange, and mingl'd air:
'Twas fad, by fits-by ftarts, 'twas wild.

But

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