Forc'd from my melting eyes the briny dew,
And paid a facrifice to hostile virtue.

Dacia, forgive the fight that wish'd the fouls
Of those fair infidels fome humble place

66

Among the bleft. Sleep, fleep, ye hapless pair,
"Gently, I cry'd, worthy of better fate,
"And better faith." Hard by the General lay,
Of Saracen defcent, a grizly form
Breathlefs, yet pride fat pale upon his front
In disappointment, with a furly brow
Louring in death, and vext; his rigid jaws
Foaming with blood bite hard the Polish fpear:
In that dead visage my remembrance reads
Rafh Caraccas: In vain the boasting slave
Promis'd and footh'd the fultan threatening fierce
With royal fuppers and triumphant fare
Spread wide beneath Warsovian filk and gold;
See on the naked ground all cold he lies
Beneath the damp wide covering of the air
Forgetful of his word. How heaven confounds
Infulting hopes! with what an awful smile
Laughs at the proud, that loofen all the reins
To their unbounded wishes, and leads on
Their blind ambition to a shameful end!

But whither am I borne? This thought of arms
Fires me in vain to fing to fenfeless bulls

What generous horfe fhould hear. Break off, my fong;
My barbarous Mufe, be ftill: Immortal deeds

Muft not be thus profan'd in ruftic verse:
The martial trumpet, and the following age,

And

And growing fame, fhall loud rehearse the fight
In founds of glory. Lo, the evening-star
Shines o'er the western hill; my oxen, come,
The well-known ftar invites the labourer home.

To MR. HENRY BENDYSH.

Aug. 24, 1705.

DEAR SIR,

THE following fong was yours when firft compofed: The Mufe then described the general fate of mankind, that is, to be ill matched; and now the rejoices that you have escaped the common mischief, and that your foul has found its own mate. Let this ode then congratulate you both. Grow mutually in more compleat likeness and love: Perfevere, and be happy.

I perfuade myself you will accept from the press what the pen more privately inscribed to you long ago; and I am in no pain left you should take offence at the fabulous drefs of this poem: Nor would weaker minds be scandalized at it, if they would give themselves leave to reflect how many divine truths are spoken by the holy writers in vifions and images, parables and dreams: Nor are my wifer friends afhamed to defend it, fince the narrative is grave and the moral so just and obvious.

THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.

W

Sept. 3.1701.

HY fhould our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's filken chain

A plague of iron prove?

Bendyfh, 'tis ftrange the charm that binds
Millions of hands, fhould leave their minds
At fuch a loose from love.

In vain I fought the wonderous caufe,
Rang'd the wide fields of nature's laws,
And urg'd the fchools in vain;
Then deep in thought, within my breast
My foul retir'd, and flumber drefs'd
A bright inftructive scene.

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,

(Sweet rapture of my mind!)

Till on the banks of Ganges flood,
In a tall ancient grove I stood,

For facred ufe defign'd.

Hard by, a venerable priest,

Rifen with his God, the Sun, from reft,

Awoke his morning fong;

Thrice he conjur'd the murmuring stream;

The birth of fouls was all his theme,

And half-divine his tongue.

"He

"He fang th' eternal rolling flame,

"The vital mass, that ftill the fame "Does all our minds compofe :

"But fhap'd in twice ten thousand frames ;
"Thence differing fouls of differing names,
"And jarring tempers rose.

"The mighty power that form'd the mind
"One mould for every two defign'd,
"And blefs'd the new-born pair:
"This be a match for this: (he faid)
"Then down he fent the fouls he made,
"To feek them bodies here:

"But parting from their warm abode
They loft their fellows on the road,
“And never join'd their hands :
"Ah cruel chance, and croffing fates!
"Our Eastern fouls have dropt their mates
"On Europe's barbarous lands.

Happy the youth that finds the bride "Whose birth is to his own ally'd,

"The sweetest joy of life:

"But oh the crowds of wretched fouls "Fetter'd to minds of different moulds, "And chain'd t' eternal ftrife!"

Thus fang the wondrous Indian bard;
My foul with vaft attention heard,

While Ganges ceas'd to flow :

"Sure then (I cry'd) might I but fee
"That gentle nymph that twinn'd with me,
"I may be happy too.

"Some courteous angel, tell me where,
"What diftant lands this unknown fair,
"Or diftant feas detain?

"Swift as the wheel of nature rolls
"I'd fly, to meet, and mingle fouls,
“And wear the joyful chain.”

THE HAPPY M A N.

NERENE as light, is Myron's foul,
And active as the fun, yet steady as the pole:
In manly beauty fhines his face;

Every Mufe, and every Grace,

Makes his heart and tongue their feat,
His heart profufely good, his tongue divinely fweet.
Myron, the wonder of our eyes,
Behold his manhood scarce begun!

Behold the race of virtue run!
Behold the goal of glory won!

Nor Fame denies the merit, nor with-holds the prize;
Her filver trumpets his renown proclaim :
The lands where learning never flew,

Which neither Rome nor Athens knew,
Surly Japan and rich Peru,

In barbarous fongs, pronounce the British hero's name.