Place me where no foft Breeze of Summer Wiml
Did e'er the ftiffned Soil unbind:
Where no intruding Warmth e'er durft invade,
But Winter holds his unmolefted Seat
In all his hoary Robes array'd,
And rattling Storms of Hail, and noife Tempests beat.
Place me beneath the (corching Blaze
Of the fierce Sun's immediate Rays;
Where Houfe nor Cottage e'er were feen,
Nor rooted Plant or Tree, nor fpringing Green.
Yet (lovely Lalage!) my generous Flame
Shall ne'er expire, I'll boldly fing of thee,
Charm'd with the Mufick of thy Name,
And guarded by the Gods of Love and Poetry.
Te Maris & Terræ, numereque carentis Arena
Menforem, cohibent, Achyta, &c.
Printed in Mr. Prior's Poems, Page 135.
AY, deareft Villiers, poor departed Friend,
Since fleeting Life thus fuddenly muft end;
Say, what did all thy bufie Hopes avail,
That anxious thou from Fole to Pole didft Sail,
E're on the Chin the fpringing Beard began
To fpread a doubtful Down, and promise Man?
What profited thy Thoughts, and Toils, and Cares,
In Vigour more confirm'd, and riper Years?
To wake e'er Morning dawn to loud Alarms;
And march 'till Close of Night in heavy Arms:
To fcorn the Summer's Suns, and Winter's Snows,
And fearch thro' every Clime thy Country's Foes?
That thou might'ft Fortune to thy Side engage,
That gentle Peace might quell Bellona's Rage;
And Anna's Bounty crown her Soldier's hoary Age?
In vain we know that free-will'd Man has Pow'r,
To haften or protract th' appointed Hour.
Our Term of Life depends not on our Deed:
Before our Birth our Funeral was decreed.
Nor aw'd by Forefight, nor mif-led by Chance,
Imperious Death directs the Ebon Lance;
Peoples great Henry's Tombs, and leads up Holben's Dance.
Alike muft ev'ry State, and ev'ry Age
Suftain the univerfal Tyrant's Rage:
For neither William's Pow'r, nor Mary's Charms
Could or repel, or pacifie his Arms,
Young Churchill fell as Life began to bloom;
And Bradford's trembling Age expects the Tomb.
Wisdom and Eloquence in vain would plead
One Moment's R fpite for the Learned Head.
Judges of Writings and of Men have dy'd;
Mecanas, Sackville, Socrates, and Hyde.
And in their various Turns the Sons must tread
Thofe gloomy Journies, which their Sires have led.
The ancient Sage, who did fo long maintain,
That Bodies die, but Souls return again,
With all the Births and Deaths he had in ftore,
Went out Pythagoras, and came no more.
And modern Afl, whose capacious Thought
Is yet with Stores of wilder Notions fraught,
Too foon convinc'd, shall yield that fleeting Breath,
Which play'd fo idly with the Darts of Death.
Some from the stranded Veffel force their Way;
Fearful of Fate, they meet it in the Sea:
Some who escape the Fury of the Wave,
Sicken on Earth, and fink into a Grave.
In Journies, or at home, in War or Peace;
By Hardships many, many fall by Eafe.
Each changing Season does its Poifon bring;
Rheums chill the Winter; Agues blaft the Spring:
Wet, Dry, Cold, Hot, at the appointed Hour,
All act fubfervient to the Tyrant's Power;
And when obedient Nature knows his Will,
A Fly, a Grape-ftone, or a Hair can kill,
For reftless Proferpine for ever treads
Jn Paths unfeen o'er our devoted Heads;
And on the fpacious Land and Liquid Main
Spreads flow Disease, or darts afflictive Pain;
Variety of Deaths confirm her endless Reign.
On curft Piava's Banks the Goddess stood,
Shew'd her dire Warrant to the rifing Flood;
Then, whom I long muft love, and long must mourn,
With fatal Speed was urging his Return;
In his dear Country to disperse his Care,
And arm himself by reft for future War:
To chide his anxious Friends officious Fears,
And promife to their Joys his elder Years.
Oh! Deftin'd Head! and oh! Severe Decree!
Nor native Country thou, nor Friend fhalt fee;
Nor War haft thou to Wage, nor Year to come:
Impending Death is thine, and inftant Doom!
Hark! The imperious Goddess is obey',
Vinds murmur, Snows defcend, and Waters spread!
-Oh! Vain are all the Cries
Of humane Voice! Strong Deftiny replies;
Weep you on Earth, for he shall fleep below;
Thence none return, and thither all must go.
Who e'er thou art, whom Choice or Bufinefs leads To this fad River or the neighbouring Meads; If thou may't happen on the dreery Shoars To find the Object which this Verfe déplores; Cleanfe the pale Corps with a religious Hand, From the polluting Weed and common Sand; Lay the dead Herce graceful in a Grave, The only Honour he can now receive; And fragrant Mould upon his Body throw, And plant the Warriour Laurel o'er his Brow; Light lye the Earth, and flourish green the Bough. So may just Heav'n fecure thy future ́Life From foreign Dangers, and domeftick Strife: And when th' infernal Judge's difmal Power, From the dark Urn fhall throw thy deftin'd Hour; When yielding to the Sentence, breathless thou And Pale fhalt lye, as what thou buriest now; May fome kind Friend the piteous Object see, And equal Rites perform to that which once was thee.
Tranflated by Mr. W. DUNCOM B.
To ICCIUS, a Philofopher.
Horace upbraids him with his Intention to quit his Book, and the Study of Philofophy, for a Military Life, out of an ava, ricious Temper.
ICCIUS, whofe Breaft th' Arabian Gold infpires,
From Lufts of happy Wealth, with Martial Fires;
Who boldly now designs to take the Field,
Against Sabaus Kings, unknowing yet to yield;
And proudly meditat'ft the fullen Mede,
Thy Slave in Chains triumphantly to lead.
What Captive Dam'fel fhall thy Will obey,
For Husband flain, and own thy Sov'reign Sway?
What fpruce and courtly Youth, with plaited Hair,
Shall at thy Board the brimming Goblet bear
Skilful from his Hereditary Bow,
With finewy Force the Parthian Shaft to throw ?
Who will deny, that Rivers may ascend,
And Tyber's rapid Current backward bend?
When you, who promis'd better Things, prepare
A Captain's Equipage, and feek the War:
And change Panatius' Books, with Care procur'd,
And Xenophon and Plato for the Sword,
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