So, when deftruction lurks unfeen,
Which men like mice may share ; May fome kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden fnare.
HY fhould our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's filken chain
A plague of iron prove?
Good Gods! 'tis ftrange, the chain that binds
Millions of hands, should leave their minds
At fuch a loose from love!'
In vain I fought the wond'rous cause;
Search'd the wide fields of nature's laws,
And urg'd the schools in vain :
Till deep in thought, within my breaft
My foul retir'd, and flumber drefs'd
A bright inftructive scene.
O'er the wide land, and crofs the tide,
On Fancy's airy wing I ride;
Sweet rapture of the mind!
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood,
In a tall ancient grove I stood,
For facred use design'd.
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Ris'n with his god, the fun, from reft,
Began his morning fong:
Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring ftream;
The birth of fouls was all his theme,
And half divine his tongue.
He fang th' eternal rolling flame;
That vital mass that's ftill the fame,
Does all our minds compofe:
Whence fhap'd in twice ten thousand frames, Whence differing fouls of different names And different paffions rose.
The mighty Pow'r that form'd the mind, • One mould for ev'ry two defign'd;
Then blefs'd the new-born pair: "This be a match for this," he faid; Then down he fent the fouls he made, To feek them bodies here.
But parting from their warm abodes, . They loft their fellows on the roads, And never join'd their hands:
O cruel chance, and croffing fates! Our Eastern fouls have loft their mates • On Europe's barbarous lands!"
Thus fang the wond'rous Indian bard;
My listening ear attentive heard,
Whilft Ganges ceas'd to flow:
Sure, then,' faid I, could I but fee The gentle nymph that twin'd with me, • I might be happy too!'
Some courteous angel tell me where,
What diftant lands the unknown fair,
Or diftant feas detain;
ROM lofty themes, from thoughts that foar'd on high,
And open'd wond'rous scenes above the sky,
My Mufe, defcend! indulge my fond defire;
With fofter thoughts my melting foul inspire,
And smooth my numbers to a female's praise :
A partial world will liften to my lays,
While Anna reigns, and fets a female name
Unrivall'd in the glorious lifts of Fame.
Hear, ye fair daughters of this happy land!
Whofe radiant eyes the vanquish'd world command:
Virtue is beauty; but when charms of mind
With elegance of outward form are join'd;
When youth makes fuch bright objects still more bright,
And Fortune fets them in the ftrongest light,
'Tis all of heav'n that we below may view,
And all but adoration is your due.
Fam'd female virtue did this isle adorn
Ere Ormond, or her glorious queen, was born:
When now Maria's pow'rful arms prevail'd,
And haughty Dudley's bold ambition fail'd,
The beauteous daughter of great Suffolk's race,
In blooming youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
Who gain'd a crown by treafon not her own,
And innocently fill'd another's throne,
Hurl'd from the fummit of imperial ftate,
With equal mind fuftain'd the ftroke of Fate.
But how will Guilford, her far dearer part,
With manly reafon fortify his heart?
At once the longs, and is afraid to know;
Now fwift fhe moves, and now advances flow,
To find her lord; and, finding, paffes by,
Silent with fear, nor dare fhe meet his eye,
Left that, unask'd, in fpeechlefs grief disclose
The mournful fecret of his inward woes.
Thus, after fickness, doubtful of her face,
The melancholy virgin thun's the glass.
At length, with troubled thought, but look ferene,
And forrow foften'd by her heav'nly mien,
She clafps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young,
While tender accents melt upon her tongue;
Gentle and fweet as vernal Zephyr blows,
Fanning the lily or the blooming rofe.
Grieve not, my Lord; a crown indeed is loft!
What far outfhines a crown we ftill may boaft;
A mind compos'd, a mind that can difdain
A fruitless forrow for a lofs fo vain.
Nothing is lofs, that virtue can improve
To wealth eternal, and return above;
• Above, where no distinction shall be known
'Twixt him whom storms have fhaken from a throne,
And him who, basking in the fmiles of Fate,
Shone forth in all the fplendour of the great:
Nor can I find the diff'rence here below ;
I lately was a queen-I still am so,
While Guilford's wife; thee rather I obey,
Than o'er mankind extend imperial fway.
When we lie down in fome obfcure retreat,
Incens'd Maria may her rage forget;
And I to death my duty will improve,
And what you miss in empire add in love!—
Your godlike foul is open'd in your look,
And I have faintly your great meaning fpoke.
For this alone I'm pleas'd I wore the crown,
To find with what content we lay it down.
Heroes may win, but 'tis a heav'nly race
Can quit a throne with a becoming grace.'
Thus fpoke the fairest of her sex, and chear'd
Her drooping lord, whofe boding bofom fear'd
A darker cloud of ills would burft, and shed
Severer vengeance on her guiltless head.
Too juft, alas! the terrors which he felt;
For, lo a guard !-forgive him if he melt-
How sharp her pangs, when fever'd from his fide!
The moft fincerely lov'd and loving bride
In fpace confin'd, the Mufe forbears to tell s
Deep was her anguish, but fhe bore it well:
His pain was equal, but his virtue lefs;
He thought in grief there could be no excefs.
Penfive he fat, o'ercaft with gloomy care,
And often fondly clafp'd his abfent fair;
Now, filent, wander'd thro' his rooms of ftate,
And ficken'd at the pomp, and tax'd his fate,
Which thus adorn'd, in all her fhining store,
A splendid wretch, magnificently poor.
Now on the bridal-bed his eyes were caft,
And anguish fed on his enjoyments paft;
Each recollected pleasure made him smart,
And ev'ry tranfport ftabb'd him to the heart.
That happy moon which fummon'd to delight,
That moon which fhone on his dear nuptial night!
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