Eager his sire's illustrious steps to trace,
And by heroic deeds assert his race.
The royal eagle thus her rip'ning brood
Trains to the quarry, and directs to blood:
His darling thus the forest monarch rears,
A firm associate for his future wars;
In union terrible, they seize the prey,
The mountains tremble, and the woods obey.
In peace united, as in war combin'd,
Were Jonathan's and Saul's affections join'd;
Paternal grace with filial duty vy'd;
And love, the knot of Nature, closer ty'd:
Ev'n Fate relents, reveres the sacred band,
And undivided bids their friendship stand.
From earth to heav'n enlarg'd, their joys improve,
Still fairer, brighter still they shine above,
Bless'd in a long eternity of love.
Daughters of Isr'el! o'er the royal urn
Wail and lament; the king, the father, mourn.
Oh! now at least indulge a pious woe,
'Tis all the dead receive, the living can bestow.
Cast off your rich attire and proud array,
Let undissembled sorrows cloud the day:
Those ornanments victorious Saul bestow'd,
With gold your pecks, your robes with purple glow'd:
Quit crowns and garlands for the sable weed,
To songs of triumph let dumb grief succeed;
Let all our grateful hearts for our dead patron bleed.
How are the mighty fall'n!
Tho' thus distress'd, tho' thus o'erwhelm'd with grief,
Light is the burthen that admits relief;
My lab'ring soul superior woes oppress,
Nor rolling time can heal, nor Fate redress.
Another Saul your sorrows can remove,
No second Jonathan shall bless my love.
O Jonathan! my friend, my brother dear!
Eyes! stream afresh, and call forth ev'ry tear;
Swell, my sad heart! each falt'ring pulse beat low,
Down sink my head beneath this weight of woe.
Hear my laments, ye Hills! ye Woods! return
My ceaseless groans: with me, ye Turtles! mourn.
How pleasant hast thou been! each lovely grace,
Each youthful charm, sat blooming on thy face:
Joy from thine eyes in radiant glories sprung,
And manna dropp'd from thy persuasive tongue.
Witness, great Heav'n! (from you those ardours
How wonderful his love! the kindest dame [came)
Lov'd not like him, nor felt so warm a flame.
No earthly passion to such height aspires,
And seraphs only burn with purer fires.
In vain, while honour calls to glorious arms,
And Isr'el's cause the pious patriot warms,
In vain, while deaths promiscuous fly below,
Nor youth can bribe, nor virtue ward the blow.
A WHITE ROSE AND A RED,
ON THE TENTH OF JUNE.
IF this pale Rose offend your sight,
It in your bosom wear,
'Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.
But, Celia, should the red be chose,
With gay vermilion bright,
'Twould sicken at each blush that glows,
And in despair turn white.
Let politicians idly prate,
Their Babels build in vain;
As uncontroulable as Fate
Imperial Love shall reign.
Each haughty faction shall obey,
And Whigs and Tories join,
Submit to your despotic sway,
Confess your right divine.
Yet, this, my gracious Monarch! own,
They're tyrants that oppress;
'Tis mercy must support your throne,
And 'tis like Heav'n to bless.
WHEN tortur'd by the cruel fair,
And almost mad with wild despair,
My fleeting spirits rove,
One cordial glance restores her slave,
Redeems me from the gaping grave,
And sooths my soul to love.
Thus in a sea of doubt I'm tost,
Now sunk, now thrown upon the coast:
What wretch can long endure
Such odd perplexing pangs as these,
When neither mortal the disease,
Nor yet complete the cure?
Proud tyrant! since to save or kill
Depends on thy capricious will,
This milder sentence give;
Reverse my strange untoward fate;
O! let me perish by thy hate,
DEAD to the soft delights of love,
Spare me, O! spare me, cruel boy! Nor seek in vain that heart to move
Which pants no more with am'rous joy.
Of old, thy faithful hardy swain,
(When smit with fair Pastora's charms) I serv'd thee many a long campaign,
And wide I spread thy conqu'ring arms.
Now, mighty God! dismiss thy slave,
To feeble age let youth succeed;
Recruit among the strong and brave,
And kindly spare an invalid.
Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares,
Ye killing joys, ye pleasing pains!
My soul for better guests prepares;
Reason restor❜d and virtue reigns.
By why, my Cloe! tell me why,
Why trickles down this silent tear?
Why do these blushes rise and die?
Why stand I mute when thou art here?
Ev'n sleep affords my soul po rest,
Thee bathing in the stream I view; With thee I dance, with thee I feast, Thee thro' the gloomy grove pursue.
Triumphant god of gay desires!
Thy vassal's raging pains remove;
I burn, I burn, with fiercer fires,
Oh take my life, or crown my love..
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