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Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long the wore, and now Belinda wears.)




Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) infulting foe!
Thou by fome other shalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than fo, ah let me ftill survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames,—but burn alive.
Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around
Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in fo loud a ftrain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain:
With fuch a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar fphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases,
And Beau's in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes. 116
There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound,
The courtier's promifes, and fick man's pray'rs,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cafuistry.

But truft the Mufe-fhe faw it upward rise,
Tho' mark'd by none, but quick, poetic eyes;

M 3




VER. 114. Since all things loft] Vid. Ariofto. Canto xxxiv.


(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)

A fudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rofe fo bright,


The heav'ns befpangling with difhevel'd light. 139 The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,

And pleas'd purfue its progress thro' the skies.

This the Beau monde fhall from the Mall furvey, And hail with mufic its propitious ray.


This the bleft Lover fhall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon fhall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ra-
vifh'd hair,

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.



VER. 137. This Partridge foon] John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfal of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English, P. VARIATIONS.

VER. 131. The Sylphs behold] Thefe two lines added for the fame reafon to keep in view the Machinery of the Foem.


VER. 128.

Stella micat.


Flammiferumque trabens fpatiofo limite crinem


For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself shall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all those treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the Muse shall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars infcribe Belinda's name.



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To the MEMORY of an


HAT beck'ning ghost, along the moon

WHAT light fhade

Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade?
'Tis fhe! but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For thofe who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye elfe, ye Pow'rs! her foul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire.
Ambition firft sprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:




* See the Duke of Buckingham's verfes to a Lady defigning to retire into a Monaftery compared with Mr. Pope's Letters to feveral Ladies, p. 206. She feems to be the fame person whofe unfortunate death is the fubject of this poem.


Thence to their images on earth it flows,


And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like Eastern Kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And close confin'd to their own palace, sleep.
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,

And sep❜rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,

Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.



But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,


These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before, And thofe love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if Eternal juftice rules the ball,



Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line á fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent herses shall befiege your gates.
There paffengers fhall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way)
Lo these were they, whofe fouls the Furies fteel'd,
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perifh all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe.



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