Imágenes de páginas
[ocr errors]


Then whither went his Soul, let such relate,
Who search the Secrets of the future State.
Divines can say but what themselves believe ;
Strong Proofs they have, but not demonftrative:
For were all plain, then all Sides must agree,
And Faith it self be lost in Certainty.
To live uprightly then is sure the best,
To save our felves, and not to damn the rest. Dryd. Pal. G Arc.

GALES. See Paradise.
The Story of G A NYMEDE in Needle-work.
There Ganymede is wrought with living Art,
Chasing thro' Ida's Grove the trembling Hart:
Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue ;
When from aloft descends in open View
The Bird of Jove, and fowsing on his Prey,
With crooked Talons bears the Boy away.
In vain, with lifted Hand and gazing Eyes,
His Guards behold him foaring thro' the Skies;
And Dogs pursue his Flight with imitaced Cries. Dryd. Virg.

Now did I not so near my Labours End
Strike Sail, and hast ning to the Harbour tend,
My Song to flow'ry Gardens might extend.
To teach the vegetable Arts, to fing
The Pæfian Roses, and their double Spring :
How Succ'ry drinks the running Streams, and how
Green Beds of Partley near the River grow :
How Cucumers along the Surface creep,
With crooked Bodies, and with Bellies deep;
The late Narcissis, and the winding Trail
Of Bears-foot, Myrtle green, and Ivy pale.
For where with stately Tow'rs Tarentum stands,
And deep Galesus soaks the yellow Sands,
I chanc'd an old Corycian Swain to know,
Lord of few Acres, and those barren too;
Unfit for.Sheep or Vines, and more unfic to fow.
Yet lab'ring well his little Spot of Ground,
Some scatt'ring Pot-herbs here and there he found;
Which cultivated with his daily Care,
And bruis'd with Vervain, were his frugal Fare :
Sometimes white Lillies did their Leaves afford,
With wholesom Poppy How'rs to mend his homely Board.
For late returning home, he supp'd at Ease,
And wisely deem'd the Wealth of Monarchs less:
The Little of his own, because his own, did please.
To quit his Care, he gather'd, first of all,
In Spring the Roses, Apples in the Fall;
O 3






And when cold Winter split the Rocks in twain,
And Ice the running Rivers did restrain,
He stripp'd the Bears-foot of its leafy Growth,
And calling western Winds, accus'd'the Spring of Sloth.
He therefore first among the Swains was found
Toreap the Product of his labour'd Ground,
And squeeze the Combs with golden Liquor crown'd.
His Limes were first in Flow'r, his lofty Pines
With friendly Shade fecur’d his tender Vines:
For ev'ry Bloom his Trees in Spring afford,
An Autumn Apple was by Tale restor’d.
He knew to rank his Elms in even Rows,
For Fruit the grafced Pear-tree to dispose,
And tame to Plums the Sourness of the Sloes.
With spreading Planes he made a cool Retreat,
To shade Good-fellows from the Summer's Heat. Dryd. Virg.

Bear me, fome God, to Baia's gentle Seats,
Or cover me in Umbria's green Retrears,
Where ev'n rough Rocks with tender Myrtle bloom,
And trodden Weeds send out a rich Perfume.
Where western Gales eternally reside,
And all the Seasons lavish all their Pride :
Blossoms, and Fruits, and Flow'rs together rise,
And the whole Year in gay Confusion lies.

O blessed Shades! O gentle cool Retreat

From all th’immoderate Heat
In which the frantick World does burn and sweat:

Where Birds that dance from Bough to Bough,
And fing above in ev'ry Tree,
Are not from Fears and Cares more free,

Than we, who lie, or walk below.
What Prince's Quire of Musick can éxcel

That whicb wichin this Shade does dwell ?
To which we nothing pay or give:

Birds, like other Poets, live
Without Reward or Thanks for their obliging Pains :

'Tis well if they become not Prey.
The whistling Winds add their less artful Strains,
And a graye Bife the murm'ring Fountains play.
Nature does all this Harmony beflow;
But to our Planes Art's Musick too,
The Pipe, Theorbo, and Ghitear we owe;
The Liteit felf, which once was green and mute :

When Orphew struck th'inspii'd Lute,
The Trees danc'd round, and understood,

By Sympathy, the Voice of Wood.
There are the Spells that to kind Sleep invite,


And nothing does within Resistance make

Which yet we moderately take,

Who would not chuse to be awake,
When he's incompass'd round with such Delight,
To th’Ear, the Smell, the Touch, the Taste, the Sight?
When Venus would her dear Adonis keep
A Pris'ner in the downy Bands of Sleep;
She od'rous Herbs and Shrubs beneath him spread,

As the most soft and sweetest Bed ;
Not her own Lap would more have charm'd his Head.
We no-where Art do so triumphant fee,

As when it grafts or buds the Tree ;
In other things we count it to excel,
If it a docil Scholar can appear,
To Nature, and but imitate her well;
It over-rules, and is her Master here.
Who' would not joy to see his conqu’ring Hand
O'er all the vegetable World command ?

He bids th'ill-natur'd Crab produce
The gentle Apple's winy Juice.
He does the savage Hawthorn teach
To bear the Medlar and the Pear;
He bids the rustick Plum to rear
A nobler Trunk, and be a Peach.
Evin Daphne's Coyness he does mock,
And weds the Cherry to her Stock;
Tho' the refus'd Apollo's Suit,
Ev'n fhe, that chaite and Virgin Tree,

Now wonders at her self, to see
That she's a Mother made, and blushes in her Fruit.
Methinks I see great Dioclefian walk

In the Salonian Garden's noble Shade,
Which by his own imperial Hands were made.
Methinks I see him smile while he does talk
With the Embassadors, who come in vain

T'invite him to a Throne again:
If I, my Friends, fays he, should to you

All the Delights that in this Garden grow;

'Tis likelier much that you would with me stay,

Than 'tis that you should carry me away:
And trust me not, my Friends, if ev'ry Day

I walk not here with more Delight,

Than ever, after the most happy Fight,
In Triumph to the Capitol I rode,

(Cowl. To thank the Gods, and to be thought my self almost a God.

[ocr errors]
[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

GARDEN of Eden. Sea Paradise.


He threw
Two pond'rous Gauntlets down in open View ;
Gauntlets which Eryx wont in Fight to wield, i
And sheath his Hands within the listed Field.
With Fear and Wonder seiz'd, the Croud beholds
The Gloves of Death, with seven diftinguish'd Folds
Of rough Bull-Hides: The Space within is spread 3
With Iron, or with Loads of heavy Lead.
These round their Shoulders to their Wrists they cy'd :
Both on the Tiptoe stand, at full Extent,
Their Arms aloft, their Bodies inly bent :
Their Heads from aiming Blows they bear afar;
And claibing Gauntlets then provoke the War.
One on his Youth and pliant Limbs relies,
One on his Sinews and his Giant Size:.
The last is stiff with Age, his Morion flow,
He heaves for Breath, and staggers to and fro;
And Clouds of issuing Smoke his Nostrils loudly blow,
Yet equal in Success, chey ward, they strike ;
Their Ways are diff'rent, but their Art alike.
Before, behind, the Blows are dealt around;
Their hollow Sides the ratling Thumps resound.
A Storm of Strokes, well meant, with Fury flies,
And errs about their Temples, Ears, and Eyes :
Not always errs; for oft the Gauntlet draws
A sweeping Stroke along the crackling Jaws.
Heavy with Age, Entetlus stands his Ground,
But with his warping Body wards the Wound:
His Hand and watchful Eye keep even Pace, .
While Dares traverses and shifts his Place:
With Hands on high-Entellies threats the Foe,
But Dares watch'd the Motion from below,
And flip'd aside, and shund the long-descending Blow.
Entellus waftes his Forces on the Wind,
And thus deluded of the Stroke design'd,
Headlong and heavy fell ; his ample Breast
And weighty Limbs his antient Mother prest.

He lays on load with either Hand amain,
And headlong drives the Trojan o'er the Plain;
Nor Stops, nor Stays, nor Rest, nor Breath allows,
But Storms of Strokes descend about bis Brows,
A racling Tempeft, and a Hail of Blows,



[ocr errors]

His Mouth and Noftrils pour'd a purple Flood,
And pounded Teeth came rufhing with the Blood;
Faintly he stagger'd chrough the hisling Throng,
And hung his Head, and trail'd his Legs along. Dryd. Virg:

GENERAL. See Battle, Soldier, War.
He in the Shock of charging Hofts unmov'd,
Amidst Confusion, Horrour, and Despair,
Examin'd all the dreadful Scenes of War:
In peaceful Thought the Field of Death survey'd,
To fainting Squadrons sent the timely Aid,
Inspir'd repuls'd Bactallions to engage,
And taught the doubtful Battle where to rage.
So when an Angel by divine Command,
With rising Tempests (bakes a guilty Land ,
Calm and serene he drives the furious Blast :
And pleas'd the Almighty's Orders to perform,
Kides in the Whirlwind, and directs the Storm.

GHOST. Seé Negromancer, Night.
Forms without Body, and impassive Air,
The squallid Spectres, that in dead of Night
Break my short Sleep, and skim before my Sight;

Thin Shades, the Sports of Winds, are toss'd
O'er dreary Plains, or tread the burning Coaft. Dryd. Virg.

I've heard a Spirit's Force is wonderful,
At whose Approach, when starting from his Dungeon,
The Earth will Ihake, and the old Ocean groan ;
Rocks are remov'd, and Trees are thunder'd down,
And Walls of Brass, and Gates of Adamart
Are paffable as Air, and fleet like Winds.

Lee Oedip
It faded at the crowing of the Cock,

And started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful Summons.

Shak, Mami.
Be thou a Spirit of Health, or Goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee Airs from Heav'n, or Blasts from Hell,
Be thy Events wicked or charitable,
Thou com'ft in such a questionable Shape,
That I will speak to thee : Oh! oh! answer me:
Let me not burst in Ignorance, but tell
Why thy canoniz'd Bones, hearfed in Earth,
Have burst their Cearments ? Why the Sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly interr'd,
Has op'd its ponderous and marble Jaws,
To let thee out again? What may this mean,
That thou, dear Coarse, again in compleat Sceel
Revisit'st thus the Glimpses of the Morn,
Making Night hideous, and us Fools of Nature
So horridly to shake our Disposition,


« AnteriorContinuar »