Cure of all ills, till now, her lord appears
But not to chear her heart, and dry her tears!
Not now, as ufual, like the rising day,
To chafe the fhadows and the damps away;
But, like a gloomy ftorm, at once to sweep
And plunge her to the bottom of the deep.
Black were his robes, dejected was his air,
His voice was frozen by his cold despair;
Slow, like a ghost, he mov'd with folemn pace;
A dying paleness fat upon his face.

Back the recoil'd, fhe fmote her lovely breaft,
Her eyes the anguish of her heart confefs'd;
Struck to the foul, fhe ftagger'd with the wound,
And funk, a breathlefs image, to the ground.

Thus the fair lily, when the fky's o'ercaft,
At first but shudders in the feeble blast;
But when the winds and weighty rains defcend,
The fair and upright ftem is forc'd to bend,
Till broke, at length, it's fnowy leaves are shed,
And ftrew with dying fweets their native bed..

HER

BOOK II.

Hic pietatis honos? fic nos in fceptra reponis?

ER Guilford clasps her, beautiful in death,
And with a kiss recalls her fleeting breath.

To tapers thus, which by a blast expire,
A lighted taper, touch'd, reftores the fire.
She rear'd her fwimming eye, and faw the light;
And Guilford, too, or fhe had loath'd the fight.
Her father's death the bore, defpis'd her own,
But now fhe muft, fhe will have leave to groan.
Ah, Guilford!' fhe began, and would have spoke,
But fobs rush'd in, and ev'ry accent broke:

3 1 2

VIRG.

Reafon

Reafon itself, as gufts of paffion blew,
Was ruffled in the tempeft, and withdrew.
So the youth loft his image in the well,
When tears upon the yielding furface fell
The fcatter'd features flid into decay,
And spreading circles drove his face away.

To touch the foft affections, and controul
The manly temper of the bravest foul,
What with afflicted beauty can compare,
And drops of love diftilling from the fair?
It melts us down; our pains delight bestow,
And we with fondness languish o'er our woe.
This Guilford prov'd; and, with excefs of pain,
And pleasure too, did to his bosom ftrain
The weeping fair; funk deep in foft defire,
Indulg'd his love, and nurs'd the raging fire:
Then tore himself away; and, ftanding wide,
As fearing a relapse of fondness, cry'd,
With ill-diffembled grief, My life, forbear!

You wound your Guilford with each cruel tear :
• Did you not chide my grief? reprefs your own,
• Nor want compaffion for yourself alone.
• Have you beheld how, from the distant main,
The thronging waves roll on, a num'rous train,
And foam, and bellow, till they reach the shore,
< There burst their noisy pride, and are no more?
Thus the fucceffive flows of human race,

Chac'd by the coming, the preceding chace;

They found and swell, their haughty heads they rear,

• Then fall and flatten, break and difappear.

Life is a forfeit we must shortly pay,

And where's the mighty lucre of a day?

Why should you mourn my fate? 'tis moft unkind;
Your own you bore with an unshaken mind:

And which, can you imagine, was the dart

That drank moft blood, funk deepest in my heart?

I can

• I cannot live without you; and my doom
I meet with joy, to fhare one common tomb.-
And are, again, your tears profufely spilt?
Oh! then my kindness blackens to my guilt;
It foils itself if it recall your pain :-
Life of my life! I beg you to refrain !
The load which Fate impofes you increase,
And help Maria to deftroy my peace!'

But, oh! against himself his labour turn'd;
The more he comforted, the more fhe mourn'd.
Compaffion fwells our grief; words foft and kind
But foothe our weakness, and diffolve the mind.
Her forrow flow'd in ftreams: nor her's alone;
While that he blam'd, he yielded to his own.
Where are the fmiles fhe wore when fhe, fo late,
Hail'd him great partner of the regal state;
When orient gems around her temples blaz'd,
And bending nations on the glory gaz'd?

'Tis now the queen's command they both retreat,
To weep with dignity, and mourn in state:
She forms the decent mifery with joy,

And loads with pomp the wretch she would destroy.
A fpacious hall is hung with black; all light
Shut out, and noon-day darken'd into night:
From the mid-roof a lamp depends on high,
Like a dim crefcent in a clouded sky;
It sheds a quiv'ring, melancholy gloom,
Which only fhews the darkness of the room.
A thining axe is on the table laid,

A dreadful fight! and glitters thro' the shade.
In this fad fcene the lovers are confin'd,

A fcene of terrors to a guilty mind!

A scene that would have damp'd with rifing cares,
And quite extinguish'd every love but theirs.
What can they do? they fix their mournful eyes-
Then Guilford thus, abruptly: I defpife

• An

An empire loft; I fling away the crown;

• Numbers have laid that bright delufion down;
• But where's the Charles, or Dioclefian where,
Could quit the blooming, wedded, weeping fair?
⚫ Oh! to dwell ever on thy lip! to stand
In full poffeffion of thy fnowy hand!
• And, thro' th' unclouded crystal of thy eye,
The heav'nly treasures of thy mind to spy!
Till rapture reafon happily destroys,

• And my foul wanders thro' immortal joys!

• Give me the world, and ask me where's my blifs;
I clafp thee to my breast, and answer, "This.”
And fhall the grave' He groans, and can no more,
But all her charms in filence traces o'er :

Her lip, her cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought;
And, wond'ring, fees, in fad prefaging thought,
From that fair neck, that world of beauty, fall,
And roll along the duft, a ghaftly ball!

Oh! let thofe tremble who are greatly blefs'd;
For who but Guilford could be thus diftrefs'd?
Come hither, all you happy, all you great!
From flow'ry meadows, and from rooms of state;
Nor think I call your pleasures to destroy,
But to refine, and to exalt your joy:

Weep not; but, fmiling, fix your ardent care
On nobler titles than the brave or fair.

Was ever fuch a mournful, moving fight!
See, if you can, by that dim, trembling light.
Now they embrace; and, mix'd with bitter woe,
Like Ifis and her Thames, one stream they flow:
Now they ftart wide; fix'd in benumbing care,
They stiffen into ftatues of defpair.
Now, tenderly fevere, and fiercely kind,
They rush at once; they fling their cares behind,
And clafp, as if to death; new vows repeat,
And, quite wrapp'd up in love, forget their fate.

A short

A fhort delufion! for the raging pain

Returns, and their poor hearts must bleed again.
Mean time the queen new cruelty decreed;
But ill content that they should only bleed.
A priest is fent, who, with infidious art,
Inftills his poifon into Suffolk's heart;
And Guilford drank it:-hanging on the breaft,
He from his childhood was with Rome poffefs'd.
When now the ministers of Death draw nigh,
And in her dearest lord the first must die,
The fubtle priest, who long had watch'd to find
The most unguarded paffes of her mind,
Bespoke her thus: Grieve not; 'tis in your pow'r

Your lord to rescue from this fatal hour.'

Her bofom pants; fhe draws her breath with pain;
A fudden horror thrills thro' ev'ry vein:
Life feems fufpended, on his words intent,
And her foul trembles for the great event.

The priest proceeds: Embrace the faith of Rome, And ward your own, your lord's, and father's doom.' Ye bleffed fpirits! now your charge fuftain;

The past was ease; now first she suffers pain.
Muft fhe pronounce her father's death? must she
Bid Guilford bleed ?-It muft not, cannot be !

It cannot be! but 'tis the Chriftian's praise,
Above impoffibilities to raise

The weakness of our nature, and deride

Of vain philofophy the boafted pride.
What tho' our feeble finews scarce impart
A moment's swiftnefs to the feather'd dart;
Tho' tainted air our vig'rous youth can break,
And a chill blast the hardy warrior shake ;
Yet are we ftrong. Hear the loud tempeft roar
From east to west, and call us weak no more;
The lightning's unrefifted force proclaims

Our might, and thunders raise our humble names: