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Thence to her Herd the sped her self in halle :
The Bridegroom started from his Trance at last,
And piping homeward jocundly he past.
The Beginning of the First Book of
Elight of human Kind, and Gods above,
Parent of Rome, Propitious Queen of Love,
Whose vital Pow's, Air, Earth, and Sea fupplies ;
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rowling Skies:
For every kind, by thy prolifick might,
Springs, and beholds the Regions of the Light.
Thee, Goddess, thee the Clouds and Tempests fear,
And at thy pleasing Presence disappear :
For thee the Land in fragrant Flow'rs is dreft ;
For thee the Ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy
[light is bleft. And Heav'n it self with more ferene and purer For when the rising Spring adorns the Mead, And a new Scene of Nature stands display'd, When teeming Buds, and chearful Greens appear, And Western Gales unlock the lazy Year ; The joyous Birds thy welcome first express, Whose native Songs thy genial Fire confess : Then savage Beasts bound o'er their flighted Food, Struck with thy Darts, and tempt the raging Flood. All Nature is thy Gift ; Earth, Air, and Sea : Of all that breathes, the various progeny, Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee. O'er barren Mountains, o'er the flow'ry Plain, The leafy Forest, and the liquid Main, Extends thy uncontroul'd and boundless Reign.
Through all the living Regions dost thou move,
And scatter'it, where thou goest, the kindly Seeds of
Since then the race of every living thing [Love.
Obeys thy Pow'r; fince nothing new can spring
Without thy Warmth, without thy Influence bear,
Or beautiful, or lovesome can appears
*Be thou my Aid, my tuneful Song inspire,
And kindle with thy own productive fire;
While all thy Province, Nature, I survey,
And fing to Memmius an immorcal lay
Of Heav'n and Earth, and every where thy won-
drous Pow'r display :
To Memmius, under thy sweet Influence born,
Whom thou with all thy Gifts and Graces doft adorn,
The rather then afsift my Muse and me,
Infusing Verses worthy him and thee.
Mean-time on Land and Sea let barb'rous Discord cease,
And lull the liftning World in universal Peace.
To thee Mankind their soft repose must owe ;
For thou alone that Blessing canst bestow ;
Because the brutal business of the War
Is manag'd by thy dreadful Servant's Care ;
Who oft retires from fighting Fields, to prove
The pleasing Pains of thy eternal Love ;
And, pantiog on thy Breast, supinely lies, [Eyes;
While with thy heavenly Form he feeds his familh'd
Sucks in with open Lips thy balmy Breath,
By turns restor’d to Life, and plung'd in pleasing Death,
There while thy curling Limbs about him move,
Involy'd and fetter'd in the Links of Love,
When, wishing all, he nothing can deny,
Thy Charms in that auspicious moment try ;
With winning Eloquence our Peace implore,
And Quiet to the weary World restore.
The Beginning of the Second Book of
IS pleasant, fafely to behold from shore
The rowling Ship, and hear the Tempest roar: Not that another's Pain is our delight; But Pains unfelt produce the pleasing Sight. 'Tis pleasant also to behold from far The moving Legions mingled in the War. But much more sweet thy lab'ring Steps to guide To Virtue's heights, with Wisdom well supply'd, And all the Magazines of Learning fortify'd: From thence to look below on human kind, Bewilder'd in the Maze of Life, and blind : To see vain Fools ambitiously contend For Wit and Pow'r; their last endeavours bend T' outshine each other, waste their time and health In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth. O wretched Man! in what a mist of Life, Inclos'd with dangers and with noisy ftrife, He spends his little Span ; and overfeeds His cramm'd desires, with more than Nature needs! For Nature wisely stints our appetite, And craves no more than undisturb'd Delight ; Which Minds, unmix'd with cares and fears, obtain ; A Soul serene, a Body void of Pain. So little this corporeal Frame requires; So bounded are our natural Defires, That wanting all, and setting Pain aside, With bare Privation Sense is satisfy'd. If Golden Sconces hang not on the Walls, To light the costly Suppers and the Balls ;
If the proud Palace shines not with the State
Of burnish'd Bowls, and of reflected Plate;
If well-tun'd Harps, nor the more pleasing Sound
Of Voices, from the vaulted Roofs rebound ;
Yet on the Grass, beneath a Poplar shade,
By the cool Stream, our careless Limbs are lay'd ;
With cheaper Pleasures innocently bleft,
When the warm Spring with gawdy flow'rs is drest.
Nor will the raging Fever's fire abate,
With Golden Canopies and Beds of State :
But the poor Patient will as soon be found
On the hard mattress, or the Mother ground.
Then since our Bodies are not eas'd the more
By Birth, or Pow'r, or Fortune's wealthy store,
'Tis plain, these useless Toys of every kind
As little can relieve the lab'ring Mind :
Unless we cou'd suppose the dreadful fight
Of marshald Legions, moving to the fight,
Cou’d, with their Sound and terrible Array,
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of Death away,
But, fince the supposition vain appears,
Since clinging Cares, and trains of inbred Fears,
Are not with Sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of Pomp pursue the Prince,
Not aw'd by Arms, but in the Presence bold,
Without respect to Purple, or to Gold ;
Why should not we these pageantries despise ;
Whose worth but in our want of Reason lies?
For Life is all in wandring Errors led ;
And just as Children are surpriz'd with dread,
And tremble in the dark, so riper Years
E'en in broad day-light are possess'd with fears ;
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain,
As those which in the Breasts of Children reign.
These bugbears of the Mind, this inward Hell,
No rays of outward sunshine can dispel ;
But Nature and right Reason must display
Their Beams abroad, and bring the darksome Soul to day.
The latter Part of the Third Book of LUCRETIUS; against the Fear of Death.
WHAT has this Bugbear Death
to frighten Men,
For, as before our Birth we felt no pain,
When Punick Arms infested Land and Main,
When Heav'n and Earth were in confufion hurl'd
For the debated Empire of the World,
Which aw'd with dreadful Expe&tation lay,
Sure to be Slaves, uncertain who should fway :
So, when our mortal frame shall be disjoin'd,
'The lifeless Lump uncoupled from the Mind,
From sense of Grief and Pain we shall be free
We shall not feel, because we shall not Be.
Though Earth in Seas, and Seas in Heav'n were loft,
We should not moye, we only should be toft.
Nay, even suppose when we have fuffer'd Fate,
The Soul could feel in her divided State,
What's that to us ? for we are only We
While Souls and Bodies in one frame agree.
Nay, tho' our Atoms should revolve by chance,
And Matter leap into the former dance ;
Tho'time our Life and Motion could restore,
And make our Bodies what they were before,
What gain to us would all this bustle bring?
The new-made Man would be another thing.