Verfes fent to Dr. GARTH in his Illness.
By Mr. GRANVILL.
[Achaon Sick! in every Face we find
His Danger is the Danger of Mankind,
Whose Art protecting, Nature could expire
But by a Deluge, or the general Fire.
More Lives he faves, than perish in our Wars;
And, fafter than a Plague deftroys, repairs.
The bold Carowser, and advent'rous Dame,
Nor fear the Feaver, nor refuse the Flame;
Safe in his Skill, from all Restraint set free,
But confcious Shame, Remorfe, or Piety.
Sire of all Arts, defend thy darling Son,
Reftore the Man, whofe Life's fo much our own;
On whom, like Atlas, the whole World's reclin'd:
And, by preferving Garth, preferve Mankind.
HIS is the Place, where oft my longing Eyes
Have charming Sylvia seen!
How in that Inftant would my Paffion rife?
And with what Transports did I meet her then?
What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?
Here, Chaplets of the choiceft Flow'rs to make, The Meads I wander'd o'er:
Which the with tender Looks would blushing take; Or with feign'd Coyness make her Kindnets more. What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move? Have you forgot that you no longer love?
If tender Jealoufies difturb'd my Reft,
Whene'er my Doubts appear'd;
How unconcern'dly wou'd fhe calm my Breaft?
With what Contempt describe the Swains I fear'd?
What means my Heart, at that falfe Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?
Now, conscious of her Guilt, fhe fhuns my Sight;
To me the fhuts her Door;
While worthless Hirelings grofly taste Delight,
And riot in the Charms that I adore.
What means my Heart, at that false Name to move?
Have you forgot that you no longer love?
Upon an Accidental Meeting. WHAT Sight is that does ev'ry Senfe control?
What ftops my Tongue? what is it strikes my Soul; And in my Breaft revives extinguish'd Fires? Oh, Sylvia durft thou enter in Difpute! Could thy Guilt ftand but for one Moment mute! And let us calmly talk of past Defires!
Fear not that I should furiously contend My Wrongs to plead, my Actions to defend; Or with falfe Colours the Difpute prolong; Rather may'st thou, Fair Nymph, thy Condu& clear, Make, with full Proofs, thy Innocence appear, And clearly fhow that I have done thee Wrong. Love, all the Treasure of my Soul contain'd; That Treasure I confided in thy Hand, Which thou haft fquander'd lavishly away: This is the Point on which the Caufe we'll try; Speak boldly then, which part can't thou deny? Did not I truft? or didft not thou betray?
Had'st thou loft all that Avarice defires,
Or all that Beauty which the World admires,
Not both thofe Loffes could have chang'd my Mind:
I could have lov'd thee Indigent and Poor;
I could have lov'd, tho' Beauty were no more;
But I muft hate thee, Faithlefs and Unkind,
Yet, oh ye Pow'rs! what Torture 'tis to part From one fo deeply rooted in my Heart! And with what wretched Profpe& muft I live? Take Courage, Heart! for cou'dft thou yet retura, And in ignoble Paffions meanly burn,
Yet fhe has injur'd, and can ne'er forgive,
Milton's Stile imitated, in a Tranflation of a Story out of the Third Æneid.
By Mr. JOSEPH ADDISON.
OST in the gloomy Horror of the Night
We ftruck upon the Coast where Atna lyes,
Horrid and wafte; its Entrails fraught with Fire:
That now cafts out dark Fumes and pitchy Clouds,
Vaft Show'rs of Ashes hov'ring in the fmoak;
Now belches molten Stones and ruddy Flame
-Incenft, or tears up Mountains by the Roots,
Or flings a broken Rock aloft in Air.
The bottom works with fmother'd Fire, involv'd
In peftilential Vapours, Stench and Smoak.
'Tis faid that Thunder-ftruck Enceladus,
Grov❜ling beneath th' incumbent Mountain's Weight
Lyes ftretch'd fupine, Eternal Prey of Flames ;
And when he heaves against the burning Load,
Reluctant to invert his broiling Limbs,
A fudden Earth-Quake shoots through all the Ifle,
And Atna thunders dreadful under Ground,
Then pours out Smoak in wreathing Curls convolv'd,
And fhades the Sun's bright Orb, and blots out Day.
Here in the shelter of the Woods we lodg'd,
And frighted heard ftrange Sounds and dismal Yells,
Nor faw from whence they came; for all the Night
A Murky Storm deep low'ring o'er our Heads
Hung imminent, that with impervious Gloom
Oppos'd it felf to Cynthia's Silver Ray,
And fhaded all beneath: but now the Sun
With Orient Beams had chas'd the dewy Night
From Earth and Heav'n; all Nature ftood disclos'd
When looking on the Neighb'ring Woods we faw
The ghaftly Vifage of a Man unknown,
An uncouth Feature, Meager, Pale, and Wild,
Affliction's foul and terrible Dismay
Sate in his Looks, his Face impair'd and worn
With Marks of Famine, speaking fore Distress.
His Locks were tangled, and his fhaggy Beard
Matted with Filth, in all things elfe a Greek.
He firft advanc'd in hafte, but when he faw
Trojans and Trojan Arms, in mid Career
Stopt short, he back recoil'd as one furpriz❜d:
But foon recov❜ring speed, he ran, he flew
Precipitant, and thus with piteous Cries
Our Ears affail'd: " By Heav'n's Eternal Fires,
"By ev'ry God that fits Enthron'd on high,
"By this good Light, relieve a Wretch forlorn,
"And bear me hence to any distant Shore,
"So I may fhun this Savage Race accurft.
« 'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late "With Sword and Fire o'er-turn'd Neptunian Troy "And laid the Labour of the Gods in Duft; "For which, if so the sad Offence deserves, "Plung'd in the Deep for ever let me lye "Whelm'd under Seas; if Death must be my doom, "Let Man inflict it, and I die well-pleas'd.
He ended here, and now profuse of Tears In fuppliant Mood fell proftrate at our Feet; We bade him fpeak from whence, and what he was, And how by ftrefs of Fortune funk thus low; Anchifes too with friendly Afpect mild Gave him his Hand, fure Pledge of Amity, When, thus encourag'd, he began his Tale. I'm one, fays he, of poor Defcent, my Name Is Achamenides, my Country Greece,
Ulyffes' fad Compeer, who whilft he fled
The raging Cyclops, left me here behind
Difconfolate, forlorn; within the Cave
He left me, Giant Polypheme's dark Cave;
A Dungeon wide and horrible, the Walls
On all fides furr'd with mouldy Damps, and hung
With Clots of ropy Gore, and human Limbs,
His dire Repaft: Himself's of mighty size,'
Hoarfe in his Voice, and in his Visage grim,
Intractable, that riots on the Flesh
Of Mortal Men, and fwills the vital Blooda
Him did I fee fnatch up with horrid Grafp
Two fprawling Greeks, in either Hand a Man;
I faw him when with huge tempeftuous, fway
He dafht and broke 'em on the Grundfil Edge;
The Pavement fwam in Blood, the Walls around
Were fpatter'd o'er with Brains. He lapt the Blood,
And chew'd the tender Flesh ftill warm with Life,
That fwell'd and heav'd it felf amidst his Teeth
As fenfible of Pain. Not lefs mean while
Our Chief incens'd, and ftudious of Revenge,
Plots his Deftruction, which he thus effects.
The Giant, gorg'd with Flesh, and Wine, and Blood,
Lay ftretcht at length and fnoring in his Den,
Belching raw Gobbets from his Maw, o'er-charg'd
With purple Wine and cruddl'd Gore confus'd.
We gather'd round, and to his fingle Eye,
The fingle Eye that in his Forehead glar'd
Like a full Moon, or a broad burnifh'd Shield,
A forky Staff we dext'roufly apply'd,
Which in the fpacious Socket turning round,
Scoopt out the big round Gelly from its Orb.
But let me hot thus interpofe Delays;
Fly, Mortals, fly this curft detefted Race:
A hundred of the fame ftupendous fize,
A hundred Cyclops live among the Hills,
Gigantick Brotherhood, that stalk along
With horrid Strides o'er the high Mountains tops,
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