Ο CHORUS of YOUTHS and VIRGINS. SEMICHORUS. H Tyrant Loye! haft thou poffeft The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breaft? And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame. But entring learns to be fincere. Why, Virtue, dost thou blame defire CHORU S. Love's purer flames the Gods approve; And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes. A wand'ring, felf-confuming fire. NOTES. VER. 9. why Virtue, etc.) In allufion to that famous cons ceit of Guarini, Se il peccare è fi dolce, etc. But Hymen's kinder flames unite; Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light, SEMICHORUS. Oh fource of ev'ry focial tye, What various joys on one attend, As fon, as father, brother, hufband, friend? Whether his hoary fire he fpies, algal Medy While thoufand grateful thoughts arife; Or meets his fpoufe's fonder eye; Or views his finiling progeny; What tender paffions take their turns, 5.3 30 His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns, With rev'rence, hope, and love. CHORU.S. Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes, Hence falfe tears, deceits, difguifes,com Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes; Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine: Pureft love's unvafting treasure, Sacred Hymen! thefe are thine. a) 36 40 a) These two Chorus's are enough to fhew us his great talents for this fpecies of Poetry, and to make us lament he did not profecute his purpose in executing fome plans he had chalk'd out; but the character of the Managers of Playhouses was what (he faid) foon determined him to lay afide all thoughts of that nature. O D E on SOLITUDE a). APPY the inan, whose wish and care A Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whofe fields with bread, s Whofe flocks fupply him with attire, < Whose trees in fummer yield him shade, Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years flide soft away: Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease, Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone, Tell where I lie. 10 20 *) This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old. The dying Chriftian to his SOUL. ODE). 1. VITAL fpark of heav'nly firme: Quit, oh quit this mortal frame: 11. Hark! they whifper; Angels fay, Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath? III. The world recedes; it difappears! Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy Victory; O Death! where is thy Sting? NOTES. 4) This ode was written in imitation of the famous fonner of Hadrian to his departing foul; but as much fuperior to his original in fenfe and fublimity, as the Chriftian Religion is to the Pagan. |