For what is life unless its joys we prove?
And what is happiness but mutual love?
Our time is wealth no frugal hand can store,
All our poffeffion is the present hour,
And he who spares to use it, ever poor.
The golden now is all that we can boast ;

And that (like snow) at once is grafp'd and loft.
Hafte, wing thy paffage then, no more delay,
But to these eyes their fole delight convey.
Not thus I languish'd for thy virgin charms,
When first surrender'd to these eager arms,
When first admitted to that heav'n, thy breast,
To mine I ftrain'd that charming foe to reft:
How leaps my conscious heart, whilft I retrace
The dear idea of that strict embrace?

When on thy bosom quite entranc'd I lay,
And lov'd unfated the short night away;
Whilst half reluctant you, and half refign'd,
Amidst fears, wishes, pain and pleasure join'd,
Now holding off, now growing to my breast,
By turns reprov'd me, and by turns carefs'd.
Oh! how remembrance throbs in

every

vein!

I pant, I ficken for that scene again;
My fenfes ach, I can no word command,
And the pen totters in my trembling hand.
Farewel, thou only joy on earth I know,
And all that man can taste of heav'n below.

}

On

*VERSES to Dr. GEORGE ROGERS, on his taking the Degree of Doctor in Phyfic at Padua, in the Year 1664.

By Mr. WALLer.

WHEN as of old the earth's bold children ftrove,

With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove;
Pallas and Mars stood by their fov'reign's fide,
And their bright arms in his defence employ'd:
While the wife Phoebus, Hermes, and the reft
Who joy in peace and love the Muses best,
Descending from their fo diftemper'd feat,
Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat.
There firft Apollo tried the various ufe

Of herbs, and learn'd the virtue of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A jufter title than our noble friend,

Whom the like tempeft drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and, in the bays fo earn'd,
His country's honour is no lefs concern'd;
Since it appears, not all the English rave,
To ruin bent: fome ftudy how to fave.
And as Hippocrates did once extend

His facred art, whole cities to amend;

So we, brave friend, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,

*This little poem was, among several others on the fame occafon, printed by Dr. Rogers with his inaugural exercife at Padua ; and afterwards in the fame manner republished by him at London, together with his Harveian oration before the college of phyficians, in the year 1682; while Mr. Waller was yet living.

VOL. IV.

H

At

At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle,

Their fpirits calm; and peace again shall smile.

EDM. WALLER, Anglus.

Patavii, typis Pauli Frambotti.

*************

VIRGI L's Tomb.

NAPLES 1741.

Tenues ignavo Pollio chordas

Pulfo; Maroneique redens in margine templi
Suæ animum, & magni tumulis adcanto magiftri. Stat.

I Came, great bard, to gaze upon thy fhrine,

And o'er thy relicks wait th' inspiring Nine:
For fure, I faid, where Maro's ashes sleep,
The weeping Mufes must their vigils keep:
Still o'er their fav'rite's monument they mourn,
And with poetic tropies grace his urn:

Have placed the shield and martial trumpet here;
The fhepherd's pipe, and rural honours there:
Fancy had deck'd the confecrated ground,
And scatter'd never-fading rofes round.
And now my bold romantic thought aspires
To hear the echo of celestial lyres ;

Then catch fome found to bear delighted home,
And boast I learnt the verse at Virgil's tomb :
Or ftretch'd beneath thy myrtle's fragrant fhade,
With dreams extatic hov'ring o'er my head,

See

:

See forms auguft, and laurel'd ghofts afcend,
And with thyfelf, perhaps, the long proceffion end.
I came- -but foon the phantoms disappear'd;
Far other scenes, than wanton Hope had rear'd;
No faery rites, no fun'ral pomp I found;
No trophied walls with wreaths of laurel round
A mean unhonour'd ruin faintly show'd
The spot where once thy mausoleum ftood:
Hardly the form remain'd; a nodding dome
O'ergrown with mofs is now all Virgil's tomb.
'Twas such a scene as gave a kind relief
To memory, in fweetly-penfive grief:
Gloomy, unpleafing images it wrought;
No mufing, foft complacency of thought:
For Time had canker'd all, and worn away
Ev'n the last, mournful graces of decay:
Oblivion, hateful goddefs, fate before,
And cover'd with her dusky wings the door :
No filver harps I heard, no Mufe's voice,
But birds obfcene in horrid notes rejoice:
Fancy recoil'd, and with his tinfel train
Forfook the chearless scene ; no more remain
The warm ambitious hopes of airy youth;
Severe Reflection came, and frowning Truth:
Away each glitt'ring gay idea fled,

And bade a melancholy train fucceed,

That form'd, or feem'd to form, a mournful call

In feeble echoes mutt'ring round the wall.

Seek not the Muses here! th' affrighted maids
Have fled Parthenope's polluted fhades :

Her happy fhores, the feats of joy and ease,
Their fav'rite manfions once, no longer please:
No longer, as of old, in transport loft,
The fifters rove along th' enchanted coaft ;

They turn with horror from each much-lov'd ftream,
And loath the fields that were their darling theme:
The tuneful names themselves once fondly gave
To ev'ry fwelling hill, and moffy cave,

So pleafing then, are only heard with fighs;
And each fad echo bids their forrow rife.

Yet Nature fmiles, as when their Virgil fung,
Nor 'midft a fairer fcene his lyre was ftrung:
Still bloom the fweets of his elyfium here,
And the fame charms in ev'ry grove appear.
But ah! in vain indulgent funs prevail;
Health and delight in ev'ry balmy gale
Are wafted now in vain: fmall comfort bring
To weeping eyes the beauties of the spring.
To groaning flaves those fragrant meads belong,
Where Tully dictated, and Maro fung.

Long fince, alas! thofe golden days are flown,
When here each Science wore its proper crown;

Pale Tyranny has laid their altars low,
And rent the laurel from the Mufe's brow:
What wonder then 'midst such a scene to fee

The Arts expire with bleeding Liberty ?

Penfive