From the dire pomp th' affrighted fhepherd flies,
And leaves his flock the rav'nous foldier's prize.
Where now are all the nymphs that bleft the plains?
Where, the full chorus of contented fwains?
The fongs of love, of liberty and peace,
Are heard no more; the dance and tabor cease:
To the foft oaten pipe, and paft'ral reed,
The din of arms, and clarion's blast succeed:
Dire shapes appear in ev'ry op'ning glade,
And furies howl where once the Mufes ftray'd.
Is this the queen of realms, for arts renown'd ?
This captive maid, that weeps upon the ground!
Alas! how chang'd !-dejected and forlorn!
The mistress of the world become the fcorn!
Around ftand Rapine, Horror and Defpair;
And Ign'rance, dark-ally of barb'rous War:
She, at th' ufurping Vandall's dread command,
Difplays her gloomy banner o'er the land:
Beneath its chilling fhade neglected lies
Each fifter Art; and unlamented dies.
Lo! Sculpture lets her ufelefs chiffel fall
While on fome ruin'd temple's broken wall
Sad Architecture fits: and fees with shame
Mif-fhapen piles ufurp her injur'd name:
Mufic and Verfe, unhappy twins! belong
To antique Mafque, and weak unmanly Song:
The gath'ring deluge fwells on ev'ry fide,
And monkish Superftition fwells the tide.
By the refiftless torrent overborn
Floats ev'ry virtue from its bafis torn:
Fair Learning droops, the fick'ning Arts decay;
And ev'ry laurel fades, and ev'ry bay.
All is confus'd, no traces now are feen
To fhew what wretched Italy has been.
Thus once Vefuvius, crown'd with circling wood,
Parthenope, thy beauteous neighbour flood:
Perpetual Spring cloath'd the fair mountain's fide ;
And what is now thy terror, was thy pride.
Sudden th' imprifon'd flames burft forth; and laid
On fmoaky heaps each fhrieking Dryad's fhade:
Now deep in afhes finks the myrtle bow'r,
O'er beds of flow'rs fulphureous torrents roar ;
And exil'd demi-gods their ruin'd feats deplore.
E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolickfome round,
Pray tell me from whence this indecency springs,
The fexes at once to confound:
What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,
With each motion defign'd to perplex?
Bright eyes were intended to languish, not ftare,
And foftnefs the teft of your fex.
The girl who on beauty depends for fupport,
May call ev'ry art to her aid:
The bofom difplay'd, and the petticoat short,
Are famples fhe gives of her trade.
But you, on whom Fortune indulgently fmiles,
And whom Pride has preferv'd from the fnare;
. Should flily attack us, with coynefs and wiles,
Not with open and infolent air.
The Venus whofe ftatue delights all mankind,
Shrinks modeftly back from the view,
And kindly fhou'd feem by the artist design'd
To ferve as a model for you.
Then learn with her beauties to copy her air,
Nor venture too much to reveal;
Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm you conceal.
The blushes of Morn, and the mildness of May,
Are charms which no art can procure;
Oh! be but yourfelves, and our homage we pay
And your empire is folid and fure.
But if Amazon-like you attack your gallants,
And put us in fear of our lives,
You may do very well for fifters and aunts,
But believe me, you'll never be wives.
Defcribing the forrow of an ingenuous mind on the melan choly event of a licentious amour.
WHY mourns my friend! why weeps his down
That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to fhine ?` Thy chearful meads reprove that fwelling figh; Spring ne'er enamel'd fairer meads than thine. Art thou not lodg'd in fortune's warm embrace? Wert thou not form'd by nature's partial care? Bleft in thy fong, and bleft in ev'ry grace
That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair? Damon, faid he, thy partial praise restrain;
Not DAMON's friendship can my peace reftore;
Alas! his very praife awakes my pain,
And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more.
For oh! that nature on my birth had frown'd!
Or fortune fix'd me to fome lowly cell!
Then had my bofom 'fcap'd this fatal wound,
Nor had I bid thefe vernal fweets, farewel.
But led by fortune's hand, her darling child,
My youth her vain licentious blifs admir'd;
In fortune's train the fyren Flatt'ry fmil'd,
And rafhly hallow'd all her queen infpir'd.
Of folly ftudious, ev'n of vices vain,
Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay!
I chas'd the guilelefs daughters of the plain,
Nor dropt the chace, till JESSY was my prey.
Poor artless maid! to ftain thy fpotlefs name,
Expence, and art, and toil, united strove;
To lure a breaft that felt the purest flame,
Suftain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.
School'd in the fcience of love's mazy wiles,
I cloath'd each feature with affected fcorn;
I fpoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlora.
Then while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;
I bade my words the wonted foftness wear,
And feiz'd the minute of returning love.
To thee, my DAMON, dare I paint the reft ?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,
Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine.
Nine envious moons matur'd her growing fhame;
Ere while to flaunt it in the face of day;
When fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet defponding JESSY lay.
"Henry, fhe faid, by thy dear form fubdu'd,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !
I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd :
I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun.
Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,
When will the morn's once pleafing scenes return Yet what can morn's returning ray fupply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn
Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
That led the tranquil hours of spotlefs fame:
For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with fhame
The vocal birds that raise their matin strain,
The sportive lambs, increase my penfive moan;
All seem to chafe me from the chearful plain,
And talk of truth and innocence alone.
If thro' the garden's flow'ry tribes I stray,
Where bloom the jafmins that could once allure,
Hope not to find delight in us, they fay,
For we are spotlefs, JESSY; we are pure.
Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph fo frail,
Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare?
The brightest bud that fcents the vernal gale
Was not fo fragrant, and was not fo fair.
Now the grave old alarm the gentler young;
And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee;
Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue,
That bids the morn propitious fmile on me.
Thus for your fake I fhun each human eye;
I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu;
To die I languish, but I dread to die,
Left my fad fate fhou'd nourish pangs for
you.
Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove,
And let me filent feek fome friendly fhore,
There only, banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtue fhall relapfe no more.
Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name;
Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair;
Nor could it heal my peace, or chace my fhame,
That pity gave, what love refus'd to share.
Force not my tongue to ask its fcanty bread;
Nor hurl thy JESSY to the vulgar crew;
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed !
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew!
Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a fpoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair;
And pity, welcome, to my native soil.”
She fpoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could thefe hands a niggard boon affign;
Grateful fhe clafp'd me in a laft embrace,
And vow'd to wafte her life in pray'rs for mine.
I faw her foot the lofty bark afcend;
I faw her breast with every paffion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bofom, which could bear to leave?
Brief let me be; the fatal ftorm arose;
The billows rag'd; the pilot's art was vain;
O'er the tall maft the circling furges close;
My JESSY-floats upon the wat'ry plain!
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