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With pain, this tedious Banifhment I bear
From the dear Town, and you, the dearest there."
Hourly, my Thoughts prefent before my View,
Those charming Joys, which once, alas! I knew,
In Wine, in Love, in Friendship, and in you.
Now Fortune has withdrawn that pleasing Scene,
We must not for a while appear again.
Here, in its ftead, unusual Profpects rife,
That dull the Fancy, and difguft the Eyes.
Bleak Groves of Trees, fhook by the Northern Winds
And heavy Aspects of unthinking Hinds.
No beauteous Nymph to fire the youthful Heart,
No Swain inftructed in the Mufes Art.

Hammond alone is from this Cenfure free,
Hammond, who makes the fame Complaint with me
Alike on both, the Want of you does strike,
Which both repine at, and lament alike;
While here I ftay, condemn'd to defart Fields,
Deny'd the Pleasures which the City yields,
My Fortunes, by the Chance of War depreft,
Loft at these Years, when I might use them beft.
To crown your Youth, confpiring Graces join,
Honour, and Bounty, Wealth, and Wit, are thine,
With Charms united, ev'ry Heart you move,
Efteem in Men, in vanquish'd Virgins, Love.
Tho' clog'd with Cares, I drag my reftless Hours,
I envy not the flowing Eafe of yours;
Still may they roll with circling Pleafures on,
Nor you neglect to feize them as they run.
Time haftes away with an impetuous flight,
And all its Joys foon vanish from our Sight,
Which we shall mourn, we us'd not, while we might.
In full Delights, let fprightly Southern live,
With all that Women, and that Wine, can give,
May generous Wicherly, all Suff'rings past,
Enjoy a well-deferv'd Estate, at laft.

Fortune, with Merit, and with Wit, be Friends,
And fure, tho' flowly, make a large amends,

Late, very late, may the great Dryden die :
But when deceas'd, may Congreve rife as high.
To him, my Service, and my Love Commend,
The greatest Wit, and yet the trueft Friend.
Accept, dear Moyle, a Letter writ in hafte,
Which my impatient Friendship dictates faft.
Friendship, like Love, imperfectly expreft,
Yet by their being fo, they're both shown beft.
Each, no cold leifure for our Thoughts affords.
But at a Heat, Arikes out our eager Words.
The Soul's Emotion, moft her Truth affures,
Such as I feel, while I fubfcribe me

YOURS.

HORACE, B. II. ODE XII.

Nolis longa fera Bella Numantia, &c.

By Mr. GLANVI L.

'RGE me no more to write of Martial Things,

UR

Of fighting Heroes, and of conqu’ring Kings:
Our brave Fore-fathers Glory to advance,

Shew fubdu'd Ireland, and fing vanquish'd France;
Tell how Spain's Blood the British Ocean fwell'd,
With Shame invading, and with more Repell'd.
No, thefe high Theams of the Heroick Strain,
Suit ill with my low feeble Vein:

To equal Numbers I'd in vain aspire,
How shall I make a Trumpet of a Lyre?
Much iefs dare I, in an unhallow'd Strain,
Great Naffan's Wars and Victories prophane.
You better may in lafting Profe rehearse
Things which defie my humble Verse.
'Tis a fond thing to think to reconcile
Such Glorious Actions with fo mean a Stile.

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II.

Me fair Lycinnia's fofter Praise,

Her native Charms, and winning Ways, The Mufe ordain'd to fing in gentle Lays. Me the fweet Song, which Syrens Art defies, Me the ferenely fhining Eyes,

And, above all, the gen'rous grateful Heart
True to the mutual Love, and faithful to its part.
Lycinnia, whofe becoming Dance

With Airy Motion does Love's Fire advance,
Whose wanton Wit, wild as her Eyes,
The tickled Mind does pleasantly furprize;
Whofe various Arts all our loofe Powers Alarm,
A Grace each Action, and each Word's a Charm.
III.

Ah! when her willing Head fhe greatly bends,
And fragrant Kiffes languishingly lends:
When with fond artful Coynefs the denies,
More glad to lofe, than we to win the Prize,
Or when the Wanton, in a toying Vein,
Snatches the Kifs from the prevented Swain ;
Wou'd you then give one Bracelet of her Hair,
For the poor Crowns that Monarchs wear?
Wou'd you exchange, for all thofe Favourite Ifles
The Sun laughs on, one of her pleafing Smiles?
Wou'd you, for both the Indies Wealth, decline
The hidden Treafures of her richer Mine?
Not I, for fuch vain Toys I'd ne'er remove;
My Wealth, my Pomp, my Heav'n fhould all be
Love.

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In Imitation of HORAC E.

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Integer vita, &c.

Written by Mr. THO. YALDEN.

HE Man that's uncorrupt, and free from Guilt,
That the Remorfe of fecret Crimes ne'er felt:
Whofe Breaft was ne'er debaucht with Sin,

But finds all calm, and all at Peace within:
In his Integrity secure,

He fears no danger, dreads no pow'r:
Ufelefs are Arms for his defence,
That keeps a faithful guard of Innocence.

II.

Secure the happy Innocent may rove,
The Care of ev'ry Pow'r above:
Altho' unarm'd he wanders o'er

The treacherous Libya's Sands, and faithless Shore.
Tho' o'er th' inhofpitable Brows

of favage Caucafus he goes:

Thro' Africk's Flames, thro' Scythia's Snows,
Or where Hydafpes, fam❜d for Monsters, flows.
III.

For as within an unfrequented Grove,
I tun'd my willing Lyre to Love:
With pleafing amorous Thoughts betray'd,
Beyond my Bounds infenfibly I ftray'd:

A Wolf that view'd me fled away,
He fed, from his defenceless Prey:
When I invok'd Maria's Aid,

Altho' unarm'd, the trembling Monster fled.

IV.

Not Daunia's teeming Sands, nor barb'rous Shore, E'er fuch a dreadful Native bore:

Nor Africk's nurfing Caves brought forth
So fierce a Beaft, of fuch amazing growth.
Yet vain did all his Fury prove,

Against a Breaft that's arm'd with Love;
Tho' abfent, fair Maria's Name

Subdues the fierce, and makes the favage tame.
V.

Commit me now to that abandon'd Place,
Where chearful Light withdraws its Rays:
No Beams on barren Nature smile,
Nor fruitful Winds refresh th' intemperate Soil.
But Tempefts, with eternal Froft,

Still rage around the gloomy Coast:
Whilft angry Jove infefts the Air,

And, black with Clouds, deforms the fullen Year

VI.

Or place me now beneath the Torrid Zone,
To live a Borderer on the Sun:

Send me to fcorching Sands, whofe heat
Guards the deftructive Soil from Human Feet.
Yet there I'll fing Maria's Name,

And fport, uninjur'd, midft the Flame: Maria's Name! that will create, even there, A milder Climate, and more temperate Air.

The Sixteenth ODE of the Second Book of HoRAC F.

Tranflated by an unknown Hand.

Beginning, Otium Divos rogat, &c.

WHEN Stormy Winds begin to rife,

And Moon and Stars do difappear;

Then to the Gods the Seaman cries,
Wishing himself at Quiet here.

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