High o'er his head was held a starry crown, Emblem of royalty and princely might: His priesthood was by golden mitre shown; An eagle young, with e'yn most piercing-bright, To prove the prophet drank the distant light. But strangest was to see a bloody hand Uprear a cross, the cross with blood bedight': Ten thousand angels, flutt'ring in a band, Admir'd the mystic sign but cou'd not understand. Now dulcet symphonies, and voices meet, Mellifluous stole upon the shepherd's car, Which swell'd so high and dy'd away so sweet, As might have charm'd a seraph from his sphere. Happy the swain that mote such music hear! Eftsoons a joyous fellowship was seen Of ladies gent 3, and beauties without peer4, As they a train of goddesses had been, In manner of a mask, radiant along the green. Faith led the van, her mantle dipt in blue, Steady her ken, and gaining on the skies; Obedient miracles around her flew: She pray'd, and Heav'n burst open on her eyes, And golden valves roll'd back in wond'rous wise: And now some hill, with all its shaggy load Of trees and flocks, unto the ocean hies5: Now wings of cherubs, flaming all abroad, Careering on the winds in sight upbear their god. Next Hope, the gayest daughter of the sky! Her nectar-dewed locks with roses bound; An Eden flourish'd where she cast her eye, And flocks of Sports and Joys, their temples crown'd, [ground. Plum'd their bright wings, and thump'd the hollow Grief gladden'd, and forgot to drop a tear At her approach; ne Sorrow mote be found, Ne rueful-looking Drad 7, ne pale-ey'd Care; And 'neath her chariot wheels she crush'd'hellblack Despair. Then Charity full-zon'd, as her beseems, Her breasts were softer ivory, her hair Play'd with the sunny rays in amber streams, And floated wanton on the buxom air; As Mercy kind, as Hope divinely fair. Her soul was flame, and with prolific rays The nations warm'd, all-bright withouten glare. Both men and angels, as she passes, gaze, [praise. But chief the poor, the lame, the blind, the naked, The train of Virtues next, a dainty train! Advance their steps, sweet daughters of delight, Awfully sweet, majestically plain! Celestial Love, as e'yn of seraphs bright, And spotless as their robes of new-spun light. Truth, simple as the love-sick village-maid; Health-blooming Temperance, a comely wight 8: Humility, in homely weeds array'd, And by her, in a line, an asses-colt she led. But hark, the jolly pipe, and rural lay! Sweet-smelling flow'rs the gentle votaries bring, Jocund to lead the way, with sparkling rays, [head. Low, very low on bended knee they greet The virgin-mother, and the son adore, The son of love! and kiss his blessed feet; Then ope the vases and present their store, Gold, frankincense and myrrh; what cou'd they For gold and myrrh a dying king divine 4; [more! The frankincense, from Arab's spicy shore, Confess'd the God; for God did in him shine: Myrrh, frankincense and gold, God-man, were meetly thine. And last, triumphant on a purple cloud, Fleecy with gold, a band of angels ride: They boldly sweep their lyres, and, hymning loud, The richest notes of harmony divide; Scarce Thomalin the rapture cou'd abide: And ever and anon the babe they eye, And through the fleshly veil the God descry'd, Shrill hallelujahs tremble up the sky: [reply. Good-will and peace to man," the choirs in Heav'u 66 If such the rapt'rous moments prove, The business of my future days, Poets shall wonder at my love, Old age shall burn as bright as youth, THE LOVER'S NIGHT. LULL'D in the arms of him she lov'd With smiles; and thus, enamour'd, sings. "How sweet are lover's vows by night, "Soft as the silent-footed Dews “To hear our vows the Moon grows pale, "The silver-sounding shining spheres, Nor charm so much, as thou, my ears, TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. AN ODE. AUSPICIOUS sprung the morning into light, The Muse observ'd the fond approaching hour, "Fair issuing, down the hill I see her move, "I own the radiant magic of her eyes, "A husband is a venerable name! "O blest with gentle manners, graceful ease; "Riches and honours wait on either name: "When such the wonders both of form and mind, Thus far the Muse. When Hymen, from the sky, ADVERTISEMENT. THE following tale is related by Pausanias, in Achaicis, Græciæ, lib. 7.; but instead of giving the original, or the Latin version by Romulus Amasæus (both which the learned reader may find in the edition published by Joach. Kuhnius in fol. Lipsia, 1696, pag. 575), I shall content myself with the translation of the story into English, as it is done from the Greek in the learned and ingenious travels of sir G. Wheeler: which book, upon many accounts, deserves to be reprinted and made more common. "Coresus, the priest of Bacchus, fell in love with a fair virgin of Calydon, called Callirboe; who the more she was courted, the more she despised the priest; so that neither his rich presents, vows, nor tears could move her to the Open'd the festival-Loose to the winds, The air, and beats the echoing vault of Heav'n. least compassion. This, at last, made the priest | And piny torch (O were it Hymen's!) ting'd run in despair to the image of Bacchus for With spicy gums, to feed the ready flame. succour, imploring vengeance from him. Bacchus made it appear that he heard his prayers, by a disease he sent on the town; which seemed a kind of drunken madness, of which mad fit people died in abundance. Whereupon they sent deputies from Calydon to the oracle of Jupiter of Dodona, to know what they should do to be freed from that woeful malady. Answer was given, that Coresus must sacrifice Callirhoe, or some other person, that would dedicate himself in her stead, to appease the anger of Bacchus. The virgin, when she could no way obtain her life of her relations, was brought to the altar, adorned as victims used to be, to be sacrificed by her lover Coresus: whose wonderful love, even at that present, so conquered all past thoughts of revenge, that instead of her he slew himself: the virgin also, relenting of her cruelty to him, went and slew herself at a fountain near the town, from thence called by her name, Callirhoe." Thus far sir George Wheeler. See his Journey into Greece, fol. book iv. page 292. I shall only add that the ancient customs, particularly of the orgia or rites of Bacchus, and of the sacrifice, are alluded to, and carefully observed, in the several parts of this little poem. HIGH in Achaia, splendid from afar, A thousand lovers from th' Olenian hill, The temple opens to the sacred throng; Neglectful of his dignity he sunk Disdainful-frowning: "Hence," she cry'd, "If pity be no stranger to thy breast, I live but on the thought of thee; my breast Here, interrupted by the swelling storm To which her frowns were innocent; and thus: Indignant he, in wrathful mood (alarm'd More at his god revil'd, than scorn for him) First casting on the ground his mitred-crown, With hands and eyes uplifted, ardent, pray'd: "Offspring of Jove, Eve Lyæus, hear! If e'er thy servant on thy altars pour'd, Avenge thy priest; this cursed race destroy: Till they confess this staggering pow'r a god." The frantic crowd, as if with wine possest, Amaz'd, confounded at the raging pest, Obsequious, they haste: inquire: return: "The rage of Bacchus for his injur'd priest, So you'll appease the god; the plague be stay'd." They said. Staring affright, and dumb amaze The fathers seize: but chief, Eneùs, thee, Callirhoe's old miserable sire! Tenfold affliction to the grave weighs down Soon through the city spread the news, and soon Wounded Callirhoe's ear. Her spindle drops Neglected from her hand. Prone on the floor, She falls, she faints; her breath, her colour fled: What pangs, unhappy maid, thy bosom tear, Waves, circling, o'er thy throbbing breast: he He riots in thy blood with dire delight; [strikes; Insatiate! He gluts his heart of rage With thy warm gushing life; and death enjoys, Redoubling wound on wound, and blow on blow. Thus pass'd her hours. And now the dewy morn The mountains tipp'd with gold, and threatened Without the city gates, a fountain wells [day. Its living waters, clear as shining glass: Haunt of the Nymphs! A cypress' aged arms Threw round a venerable gloom, and seem'd Itself a grove. An altar on the brink Convenient rose: for holy custom wills Each victim to be sprinkled with its streams, New from pollution, worthier of the god. Fierce for the sacrifice, Coresus here Waited; and, stimulated with revenge, He curs'd and chid the lazy-circling hours Too slow, as if injurious to his hate. But soon the gath'ring crowd and shouts proCallirhoe near. Her weeping damsels lead [claim The destin'd offering, lovely in distress, And sparkling through her tears. A myrtle crown With roses glowing, and selected green, Th' ambrosial plenty of her golden hair Entwine: in looks, a Venus; and a Grace In motion. Scarce the flow'rs of sixteen springs The fields had painted, since Æneùs first Fondled his babe, and biest her on his knee. Ev'n mountain-clowns, who never pity knew, Relented, and the hardest heart wept blood, Subdu'd by beauty, tho' the fatal source Of all their misery. What tumults then Roll in thy breast, Coresus! while thy hands The purifying waters on her head Pour'd trembling; and the sacred knife unsheath'd! Wiping the silver-streaming tears away, She with a look nor cheerful, nor dismay'd, |