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Peace, Chloris! peace! our singing die;
That together you and I

To heavỏn máy to:
For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is that they sing, and that they love.

3) SONG.

Say, lovely Dream! where couldst thou find

Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place. In heav'n itself thou sure wert drest

: With that angel - like disguise: Thus deluded him I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

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Fair Dream! I thou intend'st me grace,

*Change that heav'nly face of thine; Paint despis'd love in thy face,

And make it t'appear like mine. Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,

With a pity-moving shape, Such as wapder by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape. Then to that matchless nymph appear,

In whose shape thou shinest so; Softly in her sleeping ear,

With bumble words express my woe
Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,

Thus surprised she may fall:
Şleep does disproportion hide,
And, dearb- resembling, equals all.


4) To A MORB T.

air! that you may truly know,
What you unto Thyrsis owe :
I will tell you how I do
Sacharissa love and you.

Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest eyes on Amoret:
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.

If sweet Amoret complains ,
I have sense of all her pains :
But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.

All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine:
Sacharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain,
And those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.

If the soul had free election,
To dispose of her affection,
I would not thus long have born
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn:
But 'tis sure some pow'r above,
Which controls our wills in love!

If not a love, a strong desire,
To create and spread that fire
In my breast, solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.

'Tis amazement more than love Which her radiant


do move:
If less splendor wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,

would turn my dazzled sight,
To behold their milder light;
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high fame as to enjoy:
Which low eas'ly I
Heav'n (as eas’ly scal'd) does know!

Anioret! as sweet as good,
As the most delicious food,

may do,

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Which but' tasted does impart
Lite and gladness to lhe heart.

Sacharissa's beauty's wine,
Which io madness doch incline;
Such a liquor as no brain,
That is mortal, can sustain.

Scarce can I to heav'n excuse'
The devotion which I use
Unto ihat adored, dame;
For 't is not unlike the same,
Which I thither ought to send;
So that if it could take end,
'T'would to Heav'n itself be due,
To succeed her and not you;
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry;
Which, though noi so fierce a lame,
Is longer like to be the same.

Then smile on me, and I'will prove,
Wonder is shorter liv'd than love.




THE LORD PROTECTOR. We must resign! Heav'n his great soul does claim In storms, as loud as his immortal fame: His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle, And trees uncut fall for bis fun'ral pile; About bis palace their broad roots are tost Into the air. So Romulus was lost! New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king, And from obeying fell to worshipping. On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread. The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear On his victorious head, lav prostrate there. Those his last fury from the mountain rent: Our dying hero from the continent Ravish'd whole towns, and forts from Spaniards reft As his last legacy to Britain left. The ocean, which so long our hopes confin'd, Could give no limits to his vaster inind; Our bound's enlargement was his latest roil,

Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle:
Under the tropic is our language spoke,

of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
From civil broils he did us disengage,
Found noble objects for our martial tage;
And, with wise conduct, to his country shew'd
The ancient way of conquering abroad. I

Ungrateful then! if we no tears allow
To him that gave us peace and empire too.
Princes that fear'd him grieve, concern'd to see
No pitch of glory from the grave is free.
Nature herself took notice of his death,
And, sighing, swellid the sea with such a breath,
That to remotest shores her billows rolld,
Th' approaching fate of their great ruler told.

D R Y D E N.


Biographische und literarische Nachrichten von diesem berühmten Dichter, s. im ersten Theil dieses Handbachs S. 29. ü. ff. In der Andersonschen Dichtersammlung stehen sei. ne Werke im 6ten Theil, (die Übersetzung des Persius, Juvenal und Hor az im 12ten); in der Bellschen Ausgabe nehmen sie den 4osten bis 42sten Band ein.



An Ode.

Thou youngest virgin - daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the blest;
Whose palms, new-pluck'd from paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,
Thou roll'st above us, in thy wand'ring race,

Or, in procession fix'd and regular,


Mov'd with the heaven majestic pace;
Or, call'd to more superior bliss,
Thou treadst, with seraphims, the vast abyss :
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Cease thy celestial song a little space;
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,

Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse,

In no ignoble verse;
But such as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of poesy were given;
To make thyself a welcome inmate there:

While yet a young probationer,

And candidate of heaven.

If by traduction came thy mind,'

Our wonder is the less to find
A soul so charming from a stock so good;
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.

But if thy pre-existing soul

Was forin'd, at first, with myriads more, It did through all the mighty poets roll,

Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.

If so, then cease thy flight, О heaven-born mind! Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore: Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,

Than was the beauteous frame she left behind: Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind,


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May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,
New joy was sprung in heaven, as well as here on earth.
For sure the milder, planets did combine
On thy auspicious horoscope to shine,
And ev'n the most malicious were in trine.
Thy brother-angels at thy birth

Strung eachi his lyre, and tụn'd it high,
That all the people of the sky


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