Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

TWO

сно ORUS'S

TO THE

Tragedy of BRUT US*.

CHORUS of ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;

YE

Groves, where immortal Sages taught:
Where heav'nly vifions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay inspir'd!

In vain your guiltless laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Mufes fhades.

ANTIS TROPHE I

Oh heav'n-born fifters! fource of art!
Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,

Moral Truth, and mystic Song!

B

To

Altered from Shakespear by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire thefe two Chorus's were composed to fupply as many, wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-houfe. P.

To what new clime, what distant sky, Forfaken, friendless, fhall ye fly?. Say, will ye blefs the bleak Atlantic shore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev❜n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore,
See Arts her favage fons controul,

And Athens rifing near the pole !
'Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.

ANTIS TROPHE II.
Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball?
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!

Still, when the luft of tyrant power fucceeds,
Some Athens perifhes, fome Tully bleeds.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

3

CHORUS

CHORUS of Youths and Virgins.

Ο

SEMICHORUS.

H.Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast? Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame:
Love, foft intruder, enters here,
But entring learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, doft thou blame desire,
Which Nature has impreft?
Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire
The mild and gen'rous breast?

CHORUS.

Love's purer flames the Gods approve ;
The Gods and Brutus bend to love:

Brutus for abfent Portia fighs,

And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loofe love? a tranfient gust,
Spent in a fudden storm of luft,

A vapour fed from wild defire,

A wand'ring, felf-confuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one ;

Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

VER. 9. Why, Virtue, etc.] In allufion to that famous

conceit of Guarini,

"Se il peccare è sì dolce, etc.

SE

SEMICHORUS.

Oh fource of ev'ry focial tye,

United wish, and mutual joy!

25

What various joys on one attend,

As fon, as father, brother, hufband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he fries,

While thousand grateful thoughts arife;

30

Or meets his fpoufe's fonder eye;

Or views his fmiling progeny ;

What tender paffions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move?

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With rev'rence, hope, and love.

CHORUS.

Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes,
Hence falfe tears, deceits, difguifes,
Dangers, doubts, delays, furprizes;

Fires that fcorch, yet dare not fhine:
Pureft love's unwafting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leifure,
Days of eafe, and nights of pleafure;
Sacred Hymen! thefe are thine.

36

40

ODE

ODE on

SOLITUDE *.

H

APPY the man, whofe wifh and care
A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whofe fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in fummer yield him shade, In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years flide foft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,
Together mixt; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which moft does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a ftone

Tell where I lie.

6

10

15

• This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old. P.

VOL. I.

G

The

« AnteriorContinuar »