But when your music sooths the raging pain, We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign, We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.
When old Timotheus struck the vocal string, Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king: Unbounded projects labouring in his mind, He pants for room in one poor world confined. Thus waked to rage, by music's dreadful power, He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour. Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre, Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire: No more delighted with destructive war, Ambitious only now to please the fair; Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.
On her Playing upon the Harpsichord
IN A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES OF HER OWN
WHEN Stella strikes the tuneful string
In scenes of imitated Spring,
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;
Ah! think not, in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower:
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.
When charms thus press on every sense,
What thought of flight or of defence?
Deceitful hope and vain desire
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,
Delighting, as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on those regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral song;
Instruction with her flowers might spring,
And wisdom warble from her string.
Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes
Thou seest one pleasing form arise,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,
In greater scenes each other aid;
Mark, when the different notes agree
In friendly contrariety,
How passion's well accorded strife
Gives all the harmony of life.
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same;
Thy music teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.
ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NET-WORK
PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING.
THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would shine,
If wrought by any hand but thine;
Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed
The heart once caught should ne'er be freed?
TO A YOUNG LADY,
On her Birthday'.
THIS tributary verse receive, my fair,
Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer.
May this returning day for ever find
Thy form more lovely, more adorn'd thy mind;
All pains, all cares may favouring Heaven remove,
All but the sweet solicitudes of love!
May powerful nature join with grateful art,
To point each glance, and force it to the heart!
O,then! when conquer'd crowds confess thy sway,
When e'en proud wealth and prouder wit obey,
My fair, be mindful of the mighty trust,
Alas! 'tis hard for beauty to be just. [ploy;
Those sovereign charms with strictest care em-
Nor give the generous pain, the worthless joy;
With his own form acquaint the forward fool,
Shown in the mimic glass of ridicule;
Teach mimic censure her own faults to find,
No more let coquettes to themselves be blind,
So shall Belinda's charms improve mankind.
This was made almost impromptu, in the presence of Mr. Hector.
NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.
Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge which the learn'd approve,
To form one wish my soul can move.
Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain ;
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.
A BUST OF MRS. MONTAGU.
HAD this fair figure, which this frame displays,
Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
In every dome, in every sacred place
Her statue would have breathed an added grace,
And on its basis would have been enroll'd,
This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.'
AT length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, So long renown'd in B- -n's deathless strain? Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a Muse and Grace.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A
LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE.
WHAT hopes-what terrors does this gift create!
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate.
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand)
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain:
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads,
'The' unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads.
This lady was Bridget, third daughter of Philip Bacon, Esq. of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town; she became the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last baronet of that name (to whom she brought a fortune of 25,000l.), July 26, 1737. Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a third time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq. uucle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July 3, 1782.
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