The golden palaces, the splendid seats, Angels themselves their brightest hopes recline Can fail, their heav'n's an airy dream like mine. Bring out your records, show the dreadful page, 1 inclosed this letter, my dear brother, to show you with what equality of mind the generous youth behaves himself in this distress. I beg you would hasten your return to England, in compassion to Your unhappy friend and sister, LEMIRA. LETTER XIV. To HERMINIUS. I HAVE just reason to fear my essay on this noble subject will not answer your expectations; with whatever fluency I could express myself when inspired by mortal beauty, the pomp of language fails me. Here the boldest figures lose their emphasis, and grow insipid on this superior theme. DIVINE LOVE. FOR thee, fond Love, my darling theme, My lute has oft been strung; And fill'd with tender fires my heart: She taught me how to paint thy beauteous face, But who shall guide the darling strain, The brightest metaphors in vain I chuse, At once my panting breast iuspire: In triumph on to death they go. Tell me, thou, for whom I prove From mortal sense, have all my bosom fir'd: The whole creation I at once resign. Vanish thou earth, and ev'ry gaudy scene I shall be bless'd when all your lights expire, Place me where infernal Night And endless Horror reign; Unhappy ghosts complain : Ev'n there, one gentle smile of thine Th' eternal gloom would chace; Immortal day would on me shine, Should Heav'n surround me with full tides of joy, One frown of thine would all that heav'n destroy, And wither my delight; One frown of thine th' immortal groves would blast, You that sing in happy bow'rs, That know the height of heav'nly bliss, Come, play me some soft air of Paradise ; Gently strike your sweetest strings, And touch my soul on all its tender springs, While, rising on the Music's downy wings, I'll bid at once mortality adieu, And love and paint the sacred flame like you. But, my dear Herminius, the present performance will convince you that I have not yet learned the strains of immortality; and perhaps you will not think it necessary for me to make an apology for not being an angel: however, If I can contribute to your entertainment as a mere mortal, you may command Your most humble servant, EVANDER. LETTER XV. To ALONZO. You have spent so many happy hours at the Earl of's fine seat in the country that it is unnecessary to describe those beautiful scenes with which you are so well acquainted: here I have passed a great part of the summer season in a manner suited to my contemplative humour. Having no taste for country diversions, or any kind of Tural sports, my pleasures were confined to the charming shades and gardens with which the house is surrounded. Here I enjoyed an unmolested tranquillity, till a fit of curosity led me to make an excursion into the wide campaign that opened before me from the borders of the park. If I begin with the rosy dawn, you will pardon my romantic style in relating the surprising adventure but, without telling a lie, the morning was yet dusky, the balmy dew and fragrant gales perfumed the air with their untainted sweets; while, with thoughts free as the airy songsters that warble on the branches, I wandered from rising hills to winding vales, through flowery lawns to leafy woods, till I found myself under the shade of a venerable row of elms; which put me in mind of Sir Roger de Coverley's rookery; the aged trees. shot their heads so high, that, to one who passed under them, the crows and rooks which rested on their tops seemed to be cawing in another region. I was delighted with the noise, while, with the Spectator, I considered it as a kind of natural prayer to that Being who supplies the wants of his whole creation. My thoughts were inspired with a pleasing gratitude to the beneficent Father of the universe, till the sequel of my devotion was interrupted by the sight of a beautiful girl, about four or five years old, sitting on the grass, with a basket of flowers on her lap, which she was stick |