With one continu’d Winter been o’er-cast:
Has this new Age with wonted Health begun,
Reviv’d and chear’d by the relenting Sun.
Again, the Spring does early Blossoms yield,
And Nature laughs in ev’ry living Field. 15
The Stage alone remains a frozen Soil,
And fruitless mocks the weary Lab’rers Toil;
But this bright Presence darts enliv’ning Fires,
And ev’ry Muse with Genial Warmth inspires:
Health to the World, the Sun’s kind Heat assures; 20
That lives by his, but we survive by yours.
PROLOGUE TO THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN
HOW bold a Venture does our Author make!
And what strange Measures to his Wishes take?
How cou’d he hope the Tragick Scene shou’d please,
When Art’s a Jest, and Sence a loath’d Disease?
What prospect of Advantage cou’d he find 5
In the just painted Passions of the Mind,
And the sublimer Draughts of Human Kind?
Who listens now to Nature’s charming Voice,
When all are pleas’d with empty Show and Noise, 10
Loud tumid Bombast, or low Farce and Dance,
The far-fetch’d Trash of Italy and France.
What various Dishes for you have we drest,
And what strange Olio’s have set out our Feast?
Yet these please now your vitious Pallates more 15
Than your wise Sires the Tragick Muse of Yore.
The Tragick Muse, the Glory of our Nation,
Is thrown Aside, Despis’d, like an old Fashion.
In vain with Toyl the artful Bards have strove
Your fickle Taste to please, and to improve.
All this our Author knew, yet still wou’d on, 20
And tempt the Dangers he was warn’d to shun.
No dire Prediction cou’d his Mind depress,
And sure his Courage merits some Success.
Bravely resolv’d, he does his Sentence wait;
Nor dreads your Frowns, nor wou’d provoke your Hate; 25
But owns your Power, and hopes a prosperous Fate.
OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. BOOK X.
The Story of ORPHEUS and EURYDICE.
THENCE, in his Saffron Robe, for distant Thrace,
Hymen departs, thro’ Air’s unmeasur’d Space;
By Orpheus call’d, the Nuptial Pow’r attends,
But with ill-omen’d Augury descends;
Nor chearful look’d the God, nor prosp’rous spoke, 5
Nor blaz’d his Torch, but wept in hissing Smoke.
In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake,
No rapid Motion can its Flames awake.
With Dread these inauspicious Signs were view’d,
And soon a more disastrous End ensu’d; 10
For as the Bride, amid the Naiad Train,
Ran joyful, sporting o’er the flow’ry Plain,
A venom’d Viper bit her as she pass’d;
Instant she fell, and suddain breath’d her last.
When long his Loss the Thracian had deplor’d, 15
Not by superior Pow’rs to be restor’d;
Inflam’d by Love, and urg’d by deep Despair,
He leaves the Realms of Light, and upper Air;
Daring to tread the dark Tenarian Road,
And tempt the Shades in their obscure Abode; 20
Thro’ gliding Spectres of th’Interr’d to go,
And Phantom People of the World below:
Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns
O’er Ghosts, and Hell’s uncomfortable Plains.
Arriv’d, he, tuning to his Voice his Strings, 25
Thus to the King and Queen of Shadows sings.
Ye Pow’rs, who under Earth your Realms extend,
To whom all Mortals must one Day descend;
If here ’tis granted sacred Truth to tell:
I come not curious to explore your Hell; 30
Nor come to boast (by vain Ambition fir’d)
How Cerberus at my Approach retir’d.
My Wife alone I seek; for her lov’d sake
These Terrors I support, this Journey take.
She, luckless wandring, or by Fate mis-led, 35
Chanc’d on a lurking Viper’s Crest to tread;
The vengeful Beast, enflam’d with Fury, starts,
And thro’ her Heel his deathful Venom darts.
Thus was she snatch’d untimely to her Tomb;
Her growing Years cut short, and springing Bloom. 40
Long I my Loss endeavour’d to sustain,
And strongly strove, but strove, alas, in vain:
At length I yielded, won by mighty Love;
Well known is that Omnipotence above!
But here, I doubt, his unfelt Influence fails; 45
And yet a Hope within my Heart prevails,
That here, ev’n here, he has been known of old;
At least, if Truth be by Tradition told;
If Fame of former Rapes Belief may find,
You both by Love, and Love alone, were joyn’d. 50
Now, by the Horrors which these Realms surround;
By the vast Chaos of these Depths profound;
By the sad Silence which eternal reigns
O’er all the Waste of these wide-stretching Plains;
Let me again Eurydice receive, 55
Let Fate her quick-spun Thread of Life re-weave.
All our Possessions are but Loans from you,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your Due;
Hither we haste to Human-kind’s last Seat,
Your endless Empire, and our sure Retreat. 60
She too, when ripen’d Years she shall attain,
Must, of avoidless Right, be yours again:
I but the transient use of that require,
Which soon, too soon, I must resign entire.
But if the Destinies refuse my Vow, 65
And no Remission of her Doom allow;
Know, I’m determin’d to return no more;
So both retain, or both to Life restore.
Thus, while the Bard melodiously complains,
And to his Lyre accords his vocal Strains, 70
The very bloodless Shades Attention keep,
And silent, seem compassionate to weep;
Ev’n Tantalus his Flood unthirsty views,
Nor flies the Stream, nor he the Stream pursues;
Ixion’s wondring Wheel its Whirl suspends, 75
And the voracious Vultur, charm’d, attends;
No more the Belides their Toil bemoan,
And Sisiphus reclin’d, sits list’ning on his Stone.
Then first (’tis said) by sacred Verse subdu’d,
The Furies felt their Cheeks with Tears bedew’d: 80
Nor could the rigid King or Queen of Hell,
Th’Impulse of Pity in their Hearts, repell.
Now, from a Troop of Shades that last arriv’d,
Eurydice was call’d, and stood reviv’d.
Slow she advanc’d, and halting seem’d to feel 85
The fatal Wound, yet painful in her Heel.
Thus he obtains the Suit so much desir’d,
On strict Observance of the Terms requir’d:
For if, before he reach the Realms of Air,
He backward cast his Eyes to view the Fair, 90
The forfeit Grant, that Instant, void is made,
And she for ever left a lifeless Shade.
Now thro’ the noiseless Throng their Way they bend,
And both with Pain the rugged Road ascend;
Dark was the Path, and difficult, and steep, 95
And thick with Vapours from the smoaky Deep.
They well-nigh now had pass’d the Bounds of Night,
And just approach’d the Margin of the Light,
When, he mistrusting, lest her Steps might stray,
&
nbsp; And gladsom of the Glimpse of dawning Day, 100
His longing Eyes, impatient, backward cast
To catch a Lover’s Look, but look’d his last;
For, instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty Air his Arms extends.
Again she dy’d, nor yet her Lord reprov’d; 105
What cou’d she say, but that too well he lov’d?
One last Farewel she spoke, which scarce he heard;
So soon she drop’d, so suddain disappear’d.
All stunn’d he stood, when thus his Wife he view’d
By second Fate and double Death subdu’d: 110
Not more Amazement by that Wretch was shown,
Whom Cerberus beholding, turn’d to Stone;
Nor Ollenus cou’d more astonish’d look,
When on himself Lethæa’s Fault he took,
His beauteous Wife, who too secure had dar’d 115
Her Face to vye with Goddesses compar’d:
Once join’d by Love, they stand united still,
Turn’d to contiguous Rocks, on Ida’s Hill.
Now to repass the Styx in vain he tries,
Charon averse, his pressing Suit denies. 120
Sev’n Days entire, along th’infernal Shores,
Disconsolate, the Bard Eurydice deplores;
Defil’d with Filth his Robe, with Tears his Cheeks,
No Sustenance but Grief and Cares he seeks:
Of rigid Fate incessant he complains, 125
And Hell’s inexorable Gods arraigns.
This ended, to high Rhodope he hastes,
And Hcemus’ Mountain, bleek with Northern Blasts.
And now his yearly Race the circling Sun
Had thrice compleat thro’ watry Pisces run, 130
Since Orpheus fled the Face of Womankind,
And all soft Union with the Sex declin’d.
Whether his ill Success this Change had bred,
Or binding Vows made to his former Bed;
Whate’er the Cause, in vain the Nymphs contest, 135
With rival Eyes to warm his frozen Breast:
For ev’ry Nymph with Love his Lays inspir’d,
But ev’ry Nymph repuls’d, with Grief retir’d.
A Hill there was, and on that Hill a Mead,
With Verdure thick, but destitute of Shade. 140
Where, now, the Muse’s Son no sooner sings,
No sooner strikes his sweet resounding Strings,
But distant Groves the flying Sounds receive,
And listning Trees their rooted Stations leave;
Themselves transplanting, all around they grow, 145
And various Shades their various Kinds bestow.
Here, tall Chaônian Oaks their Branches spread,
While weeping Poplars, there erect their Head.
The foodful Esculus, here shoots his Leaves,
That Turf soft Lime-tree, this, fat Beach receives; 150
Here, brittle Hazels, Lawrels here advance,
And there tough Ash to form the Heroe’s Lance;
Here, Silver Firs with knotless Trunks ascend,
There, Scarlet Oaks beneath their Acorns bend.
That Spot admits the hospitable Plane, 155
On this, the Maple grows with clouded Grain;
Here, watry Willows are with Lotus seen,
There, Tamarisk, and Box for ever green.
With double Hue here Mirtles grace the Ground,
And Laurestines with purple Berries crown’d. 160
With pliant Feet, now, Ivies this way wind,
Vines yonder rise, and Elms with Vines entwin’d.
Wild Ornus now, the Pitch-tree next takes root,
And Arbutus adorn’d with blushing Fruit.
Then, easy-bending Palms, the Victor’s Prize, 165
And Pines erect with bristly Tops arise.
To Rhea grateful still the Pine remains,
For Atys still some Favour she retains,
He once in Human Shape her Breast had warm’d,
And now is cherish’d to a Tree transform’d. 170
The Fable of CYPARISSUS.
Amid the Throng of this promiscuous Wood,
With pointed Top, the taper Cypress stood;
A Tree, which once a Youth, and heav’nly fair,
Was of that Deity the darling Care,
Whose Hand adapts, with equal Skill, the Strings 175
To Bows with which he kills, and Harps to which he sings.
For, heretofore, a mighty Stag was bred,
Which on the fertile Fields of Cæa fed;
In Shape and Size he all his Kind excell’d,
And to Carthæan Nymphs was sacred held. 180
His beamy Head, with Branches high display’d,
Afforded to itself an ample Shade;
Miscellaneous Songs and Poems
A Silver Boss upon his Forehead hung, 185
And brazen Pendants in his Ear-rings rung.
Frequenting Houses, he familiar grew,
And learnt by Custom, Nature to subdue;
Till by degrees, of Fear and Wildness, broke,
Ev’n Stranger Hands his proffer’d Neck might stroak. 190
Much was the Beast by Cæa’s Youth caress’d,
But thou, sweet Cyparissus, lov’dst him best:
By thee, to Pastures fresh, he oft was led,
By thee, oft water’d at the Fountain’s Head:
His Horns with Garlands, now, by thee were ty’d, 195
And, now, thou on his Back wou’dst wanton ride;
Now here, now there wou’dst bound along the Plains,
Ruling his tender Mouth with purple Reins.
’Twas when the Summer Sun at Noon of Day,
Thro’ glowing Cancer, shot his burning Ray, 200
’Twas then, the fav’rite Stag in cool Retreat,
Had sought a Shelter from the scorching Heat;
Along the Grass his weary Limbs he laid,
Inhaling Freshness from the breezy Shade:
When Cyparissus with his pointed Dart, 205
Unknowing, pierc’d him to the panting Heart.
But when the Youth, surpriz’d, his Error found,
And saw him dying of the cruel Wound,
Himself he would have slain thro’ desp’rate Grief;
What said not Phœbus, that might yield Relief! 210
To cease his Mourning, he the Boy desir’d,
Or mourn no more than such a Loss requir’d.
But, he, incessant griev’d: At length address’d
To the superior Pow’rs a last Request;
Praying, in Expiation of his Crime, 215
Thenceforth to mourn to all succeeding Time.
And now, of Blood exhausted he appears,
Drain’d by a Torrent of continual Tears;
The fleshy Colour in his Body fades,
And a green Tincture all his Limbs invades; 220
From his fair Head, where curling Locks late hung,
A horrid Bush with bristled Branches sprung,
Which stiffning by Degrees, its Stem extends,
Till to the starry Skies the Spire ascends.
Apollo sad look’d on, and sighing, cry’d, 225
Then, be for ever, what thy Pray’r imply’d:
Bemoan’d by me, in others, Grief excite;
And still preside at ev’ry Fun’ral Rite.
continu’d by Mr. CROXALL.
A LETTER FROM MR. CONGREVE TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD VISCOUNT COBHAM.
Albi, nostrorum Sermonum candide Iudex —
Hor. Epist. I. iv i
SINCEREST Critick of my Prose, or Rhime,
Tell how thy pleasing STOWE employs thy Time.
Say, COBHAM, what amuses thy Retreat?
Or Stratagems of War, or Schemes of State?
Dost thou recal to Mind with Joy, or Grief, 5
Great MARLBRO’s Actions? That immortal Chief,
Whose slightes
t Trophy rais’d in each Campaign,
More than suffic’d to signalize a Reign?
Does thy remembrance rising warm thy Heart,
With Glory past, where Thou thy self hadst Part, 10
Or dost thou grieve indignant, now to see,
The fruitless End of all thy Victory?
To see th’Audacious Foe, so late subdu’d,
Dispute those Terms for which so long they su’d,
As if BRITANNIA now were sunk so low, 15
To beg that Peace she wonted to bestow.
Be far that Guilt! be never known that Shame!
That ENGLAND shou’d retract her rightful Claim,
Or ceasing to be dreaded and ador’d,
Stain with her Pen the Lustre of her Sword. 20
Or dost thou give the Winds a-far to blow,
Each vexing Thought, and heart-devouring Woe,
And fix thy Mind alone on rural Scenes,
To turn the level’d Lawns to liquid Plains,
To raise the creeping Rills from humble Beds, 25
And force the latent Springs to lift their Heads,
On watry Columns, Capitals to rear,
That mix their flowing Curls with upper Air?
Or dost Thou, weary grown, these Works neglect,
No Temples, Statues, Obélisques erect, 30
But catch the morning Breeze from fragrant Meads,
Or shun the noontide Ray in wholsome Shades,
Or slowly walk along the mazy Wood,
To meditate on all that’s wise and good?
For Nature bountiful in thee has join’d, 35
A Person pleasing with a worthy Mind,
Not giv’n the Form alone, but Means, and Art,
To draw the Eye, or to allure the Heart.
Poor were the Praise in Fortune to excel,
Yet want the Way to use that Fortune well. 40
While thus adorn’d, while thus with Virtue crown’d,
At Home in Peace, Abroad in Arms renown’d,
Graceful in Form, and winning in Address,
While well you think, what aptly you express,
With Health, with Honour, with a fair Estate, 45
A Table free, and eloquently neat.
What can be added more to mortal Bliss?
What can he want who stands possest of this?
What can the fondest wishing Mother more
Of Heaven attentive for her Son implore? 50
And yet a Happiness remains unknown,
Or to Philosophy reveal’d alone;
A Precept, which unpractis’d renders vain,
Thy flowing Hopes, and Pleasure turns to Pain.
Shou’d Hope, and Fear thy Heart alternate tear, 55
Or Love, or Hate, or Rage, or anxious Care,
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 18