AN ELDERLY LADY.
YE nymphs whom starry rays invest,
By flattering poets given,
Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd
In all the pomp of heaven,
Engross not all the beams on high,
Which gild a lover's lays; But, as your sister of the sky,
Let Lyce share the praise.
Her silver locks display the moon,
Her brows a cloudy show,
Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And showers from either flow.
Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's starr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.
But some, Zelinda, while I sing,
Deny my Lyce shines;
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.
Yet spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express,
My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less.
ONE-AND-TWENTY.
LONG expected one-and-twenty,
Lingering year, at length is flown:
Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty,
Great *** ****
2 are now your own,
Loosen'd from the minor's tether,
Free to mortgage or to sell,
Wild as wind, and light as feather,
Bid the sons of thrift farewell.
Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies,
All the names that banish care,
Lavish of your grandsire's guineas,
Show the spirit of an heir.
All that prey on vice and folly
Joy to see their quarry fly:
There the gamester, light and jolly,
There the lender, grave and sly.
Wealth, my lad, was made to wander;
Let it wander as it will:
Call the jockey, call the pander,
Bid them come and take their fill.
When the bonny blade carouses,
Pockets full, and spirits high-
What are acres? what are houses?
Only dirt, or wet or dry.
Should the guardian friend or mother,
Tell the woes of wilful waste:
Scorn their council, scorn their pother,
You can hang or drown at last.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN HECTOR AND
ANDROMACHE.
From the Sixth Book of Homer's Iliad.
SHE ceased: then godlike Hector answer'd kind-
(His various plumage sporting in the wind)
That post and all the rest shall be my care;
But shall I then forsake the' unfinish'd war?
How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name!
And one base action sully all my fame,
Acquired by wounds, and battles bravely fought!
Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought.
Long have I learn'd to slight this feeble breath,
And view with cheerful eyes approaching death.
The' inexorable sisters have decreed
That Priam's house and Priam's self shall bleed: The day shall come in which proud Troy shall And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field. [yield, Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, [rage, Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty Nor my brave brothers that have bit the ground, Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly Can in my bosom half that grief create, [wound, As the sad thought of your impending fate: When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose,
Mimic your tears, and ridicule your woes:
Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat,
And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight:
Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry,
Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy!'
Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous
eyes,
And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs!
Before that day, by some brave hero's hand,
May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand!'
THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.
THE rites derived from ancient days
With thoughtless reverence we praise,
The rites that taught us to combine
The joys of music and of wine,
And bid the feast and song and bowl
O'erfill the saturated soul:
But ne'er the flute or lyre applied
To cheer despair or soften pride;
Nor call them to the gloomy cells
Where Want repines and Vengeance swells;
Where Hate sits musing to betray,
And Murder meditates his prey!
To dens of guilt and shades of care,
Ye sons of melody, repair;
Nor deign the festive dome to cloy
With superfluity of joy.
Ah! little needs the minstrel's power
To speed the light convivial hour.
The board with varied plenty crown'd
May spare the luxuries of sound.
THE man, my friend, whose conscious heart
With virtue's sacred ardour glows,
Nor taints with death the' envenom'd dart,
Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:
Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads,
Or horrid Afric's faithless sands;
Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads
His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.
For while by Chloe's image charm'd,
Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd;
Me, singing, careless and unarm❜d,
A grisly wolf surprised, and fled.
No savage more portentous stain'd
Apulia's spacious wilds with gore;
None fiercer Juba's thirsty land,
Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.
Place me where no soft summer gale
Among the quivering branches sighs;
Where clouds condensed for ever veil
With horrid gloom the frowning skies;
Place me beneath the burning line,
A clime denied to human race;
I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine,
Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face.
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