The towering eagles to the realms of light
By their strong pounces claim a regal right;
The swan contented with an humbler fate,
Low on the fishy river rows in state.
Gay starry plumes thy length of train bedeck,
And the green emerald twinkles on thy neck;
But the poor nightingale in mean attire,
Is made chief warbler of the woodland choir.
These various bounties were dispos'd above,
And ratify'd th' unchanging will of Jove :
Discern thy talent, and his laws adore ;
Be what thou wert design'd, nor aim at more."
ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHI - DAY.
FROM this auspicious day three kingdoms date
The fairest favours of indulgent Fate;
From this the months in radiant circles run,
As stars receive their lustre from the Sun.
To you the sceptres of all Europe bend,
The victor those revere, and these the friend;
Your silken reins the willing nations crave,
For 'tis your lov'd prerogative to save.
Mild amidst triumphs, victory bestows
On you renown, and freedom on your foes;
Observant of your will, the goddess brings
Palins in her hand, and healing in her wings.
But, as the brightest beams and gentlest showers
Were once reserv'd for Eden's opening flowers;
So, though remoter realms your influence share,
Britannia boasts to be your darling care.
By your great wisdom and resistless might,
Abroad we conquer, and at home unite:
Nature had join'd the lands but you alone
Make their affections and their councils one;
You speak-the jarring principles remove,
And, close combin'd, the sister-nations prove
Rivals alone in loyalty and love.
What power would now forbid the warrior-queen To wave the red-cross banners o'er the Seine? Others for titles urge the soldier's toil, Or meanly seek the foe, to seize the spoil: But you for right your pious arms employ, And conquer to restore, and not destroy; Vouchsafing audience to your suppliant foes, You long to give the labouring world repose ; Concurring Justice waits from you the word, Pleas'd, when you fix the scales, to sheath the sword.
From this propitious omen we presage Unnumber'd blessings to the coming age; Establish'd Faith, the daughter of the skies, Shall see new temples by your bounty rise; Commerce beneath the southern stars shall thrive, Intestine feuds expire, and arts revive; Safe in their shades the Muses shall remain, And sing the milder glories of your reign.
So, whilst offended Heaven exerts its power, Swift fly the lightnings, lond the thunders roar, But when our incense reconciles the skies, Again the radiant beams begin to rise; Soft Zephyrs gently waft the clouds away, And fragrant flowers perfume the dawning day; The groves around rejoice with echoing strains, And golden Plenty covers all the plains.
JOHN LORD GOWER.
WRITTEN IN THE SPRING, 1716.
O'ER Winter's long inclement sway,
At length the lusty Spring prevails;
And swift to meet the smiling May,
Is wafted by the western gales.
Around him dance the rosy Hours,
And damnasking the ground with flowers,
With ambient sweets perfume the morn:
With shadowy verdure flourish'd high,
A sudden youth the groves enjoy ;
Where Philomel laments forlorn.
By her awak'd, the woodland choir
To hail the coming god prepares;
And tempts me to resume the lyre,
Soft warbling to the vernal airs.
Yet once more, O ye Muses! deign,
For me, the meanest of your train,
Unblam'd t' approach your blest retreat;
Where Horace wantons at your spring,
And Pindar sweeps a bolder string,
Whose notes th' Aonian hills repeat.
Or if invok'd, where Thames's fruitful tides Slow through the vale in silver volumes play; Now your own Phoebus o'er the month presides, Gives Love the night, and doubly gilds the day: Thither, indulgent to my prayer,
Ye bright harmonious nymphs repair,
To swell the notes I feebly raise:
So with inspiring ardours warm'd,
May Gower's propitious ear be charm'd,
To listen to my lays.
Beneath the pole on hills of snow,
Like Thracian Mars, th' un launted Swede
To dint of sword defies the foe;
In fight unknowing to recede:
From Volga's banks, th' imperious Czar
Leads forth his furry troops to war;
Fond of the softer southern sky:
The Soldan galls th' Illyrian coast;
But soon the miscreant moony host
Before the victor cross shall fly.
But here no clarion's shrilling note
The Muse's green retreat can pierce;
The grove, from noisy camps remote,
Is only vocal with my verse:
Here, wing'd with innocence and joy,
Let the soft hours that o'er me fly
Drop freedom, health, and gay desires:
While the bright Seine, t'exalt the soul,
With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl,
And wit and social mirth inspires.
Enamour'd of the Seine, celestial fair,
(The blooming pride of Thetis' azure train)
Bacchus, to win the nymph who caus'd his care,
Lash'd his swift tigers to the Celtic plain:
There secret in her sapphire cell
He with the Nais wont to dwell,
Leaving the nectar'd feasts of Jove
And where her mazy waters flow,
He gave the mantling vine, to grow
A trophy to his love.
Shall man from Nature's sanction stray,
With blind Opinion for his guide;
And, rebel to her rightful sway,
Leave all her bounties unenjoy'd?
Fool! Time no change of motion knows;
With equal speed the torrent flows,
To sweep Fame, Power, and Wealth away:
The past is all by Death possess'd ;
And frugal Fate that guards the rest,
By giving, bids him live to-day.
O Gower! through all that destin'd space
What breath the powers allot to me
Shall sing the virtues of thy race
United, and complete in thee.
O flower of ancient English faith,
Pursue th' unbeaten patriot path,
In which confirm'd thy father shone:
The light his fair example gives,
Already from thy dawn receives
A lustre equal to its own.
Honour's bright dome, on lasting columns rear'd,
Nor envy rusts, nor rolling years consume;
Loud pœans echoing round the roof are heard,
And clouds of incense all the void perfume.
There Phocion, Lælius, Capel Hyde,
With Falkland seated near his side,
Fix'd by the Muse the temple grace :
Prophetic of thy happier fame,
She, to receive thy radiant name,
Selects a whiter space.
IMITATED FROM PROPERTIUS, BOOK III. ELEGY III. To
green retreats, that shade the Muses' stream, My fancy lately bore me in a dream ;
Fir'd with ambitious zeal, my harp I strung,
And Blenheim's field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that spring, where Spenser sat of old,
And great exploits in lofty numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian grotto laid,
O'er which a laurel cast her silken shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily, when first he spy'd,
Thus leaning on his golden lyre, he cry'd:"
"What strange ambition has misplac'd thee
Forbear to sing of arms, alas, forbear! [there?
Form'd in a gentle mould, henceforth employ
Thy pen to paint the softer scenes of joy.
Thy works may thus the myrtle garland wear,
Prefer'd to grace the toilets of the fair:
When their lov'd youths at night too long delay,
In reading thee they'll pass the hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting wishes
Repeat thy passion to reveal their own.
Then haste, the safer shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy dangers of the main."
Ceasing with this reproof, the friendly god
A messy path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A cave there was, which Nature's hand alone
Had arch'd with greens of various kinds o'ergrown;
With tymbrels all the vaulted roofs were grac'd,
And earthen gods on either side wore plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses' virgin-train,
Stood here, with Pan, the poet of the plain:
Elsewhere the doves of Cytherea's team
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian stream.
Nine lovely nymphs a several task pursu'd,
For ivy one was sent to search the wood;
This to soft numbers join'd harmonious airs,
And fragrant rosy wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd
(Her name the brightness of her form confess'd):
The silver swans of Venus wait to bear
Thee safe in pomp along the liquid air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful province, straight recall
Thy rash design to sing the wounded Gaul.
Harsh sounds the trumpet in the Muses' grove,
Bat sweet the lute, the lute is fit for love.
No more rehearse the Danube's purple stream,
Let love for ever be the tender theme,
And in thy verse reveal the moving art,
To melt an haughty nymph's relentless heart."
The goddess ceasing, to confirm me more,
My face with hallow'd drops she sprinkled o'er,
Fetch'd from the fountain, by whose flowery side
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's pride.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY
MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY.
WITH THE POEMS OF MR. WALLER.
LET others boast the nine Aonian maids,
Inspiring streams, and sweet resounding shades;
Where Phoebus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the laurels learn the lofty verse.
In vain! Nor Phoebus, nor the boasted Nine,
Inflame the raptur'd soul with rays divine:
None but the fair infuse the sacred fire,
And Love, with vocal art, informs the lyre.
When Waller, kindling with celestial rage,
View'd the bright Harley of that wondering age,
His pleasing pain he taught the lute to breathe;
The Graces sung, and wove his myrtle wreath.
In youth, of patrimonial wealth possest,
The praise of science faintly warm'd his breast:
But, fir'd to fame by Sidney's rosy smile,
Swift o'er the laureat realms he urg'd his toil.
His Muse, by Nature form'd to please the fair,
Or sing of heroes with majestic air,
To melting strains attun'd her voice, and strove
To waken all the tender powers of love:
More sweetly soft her awful beauty shone,
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone.
As angels love, congenial souls unite
Their radiance, and refine each other's light:
The florid and sublime, the grave and gay,
From Waller's beams imbibe a purer ray:
Illumin'd thence in equal lays to bound
Their copious sense, and harmonize the sound;
With varied notes the curious ear to please,
And turn a nervous thought with artful ease.
Maker, and model, of melodious verse!
Accept these votive honours at thy hearse.
While I with filial awe attempt thy praise,
| Infuse thy genius, and my fancy raise!
So, warbling o'er his urn, the woodland choirs
To Orpheus pay the song his shade inspires.
In Waller's fame, O fairest Harley! view.
What verdant palms shall owe their birth to you
To you what deathless charms are thence decreed,
In Sacharissa's fate vouchsafe to read.
Secure beneath the wing of withering Time,
Her beauties flourish in ambrosial prime;
Still kindling rapture, see! she moves in state;
Gods, nymphs and heroes, on her triumph wait.
Nor think the lover's praise of love's delight
In purest minds may stain the virgin-white;
How bright, and chaste, the poet and his theme;
So Cynthia shines on Arethusa's stream.
A sainted virtue to the spheres may sing
Those strains, that ravish'd here the martyr-king,
Plenteous of native wit, in letter'd case
Politely form'd, to profit and to please,
To Fame whate'er was due he gave to Fame;
And, what he could not praise, forgot to name:
Thus Eden's rose, without a thorn, display'd
Her bloom, and in a fragrant blush decay'd.
Such soul-attracting airs were sung of old,
When blissful years in golden circles roll'd;
Pure from deceit, devoid of fear and strife,
While love was all the pensive care of life,
The swains in green retreats, with flowrets crown'd,
Taught the young groves their passion to resound:
Fancy pursu'd the paths where Beauty led,
To please the living, or deplore the dead.
While to their warbled woe the rocks reply'd,
The rills remurmur'd, and the Zephyrs sigh'd;
From death redeem'd by verse, the vanish'd fair
Breath'd in a flower, or sparkled in a star.
Bright as the stars, and fragrant as the flowers
Where spring resides in soft Elysian bowers;
While these the bowers adorn, and they the sphere,
Will Sacharissa's charms in song appear.
Yet, in the present age, her radiant name
Must take a dimmer interval of fame;
When you to full meridian lustre rise,
With Morton's shape, and Gloriana's eyes ;
With Carlisle's wit, her gesture, and her mien;
And, like scraphic Rich, with zeal serene:
In sweet assemblage all their graces join'd,
To language, mode, and manners, more refin'd'
That angel-frame, with chaste attraction gay,
Mild as the dove-cy'd Morn awakes the May,
Of noblest youths will reign the public care,
Their joy, their wish, their wonder, and despair.
Far-beaming thence what bright ideas flow!
The sister-arts with sudden rapture glow:
Her Titian tints the painter-nymph resumes;
The canvas warm with roseate beauty blooms:
Inspir'd with life by Sculpture's happy toil,
The marble breathes, and softens with your smile;
Proud to receive the form, by Fate design'd
The fairest model of the fairer kind.
But hear, O hear, the Muse's heavenly voice!
The waving woods and echoing vales rejoice:
Attend, ye gales! to Margaretta's praise,
And, all ye listening Loves, record the lays!
So Philomela charms th' Idalian grove,
When Venus, in the glowing orb of love,
O'er ocean, earth, and air, extends her reign;
The first, the brightest of the starry train.
What favourite youth assign the Fates to rise,
In bridal pomp to lead the blooming prize?
Whether his father's garter'd shield sustains
Trophies, achiev'd on Gallia's viny plains;
Or smiling Peace a mingled wreath displays,
The patriot's olive, and the poet's bays:
Adorn, ye Fates! the favourite youth assign'd,
With each ennobling grace of form, and mind:
In merit make him great, as great in blood;
Great without pride, and amiably good;
His breast the guardian ark of heaven-born law
To strike a faithless age with conscious awe.
In choice of friends by manly reason sway'd:
Not fear'd, but honour'd, and with love obey'd.
In courts, and camps in council, and retreat,
Wise, brave, and studions to support the state.
With candour firm; without ambition bold;
No deed discolour'd with the guilt of gold.
That Heaven may judge the choicest blessings due,
And give the various good compris'd in you.
TO SOUTHERNE'S SPARTAN DAME.
WHEN realms are ravag'd with invasive foes¿
Each bosom with heroic ardour glows;
Old chiefs, reflecting on their former deeds,
Disdain to rust with batter'd invalids;
But active in the foremost ranks appear,
And leave young smock-fac'd beaux to guard the
So, to repel the Vandals of the stage, [nar.
Our veteran bard resumes his tragic rage:
He throws the gauntlet Otway us'd to wield,
And calls for Englishmen to judge the field:
Thus arm'd, to rescue Nature from disgrace,
Messieurs lay down your minstrels and grimace:
The brawniest youths of Troy the combat fear'd,
When old Etellus in the lists appear'd.
Yet what avails the champion's giant size,
When pigmies are made umpires of the prize?
Your fathers (men of sense, and honest bowlers)
Disdain'd the nummery of foreign strollers:
By their examples would you form your taste,
The present age might emulate the past.
We hop'd that art and genius had secur'd you;
But soon facetious Harlequin allur'd you:
The Muscs blush'd, to see their friends exalting
Those elegant delights of jig and vaulting:
So charm'd you were, you ceas'd awhile to dote
On nonsense, gargled in an eunuch's throat:
All pleas'd to hear the chattering monsters speak,
As old wives wonder at the parson's Greek.
Such light ragoûts and mushrooms may be good,
To whet your appetites for wholesome food:
But the bold Briton ne'er in earnest dines
Without substantial haunches and surloins.
In wit, as well as war, they give us vigour;
Cressy was lost by kickshaws and soup-meagre
Instead of light desserts and luscious froth,
Our poet treats to night with Spartan broth;
To which, as well as all his former feasts,
The ladies are the chief-invited guests.
Crown'd with a kind of Glastonbury bays,
That bloom amid the winter of his days,
He comes, ambitious in his green decline,
To consecrate his wreath at Beauty's shrine.
His Oroonoko never fail'd t' engage
The radiant circles of the former age:
Each bosom heav'd, all eyes were seen to flow,
And sympathize with Isabella's woe:
But Fate reserv'd, to crown his elder fame,
The brightest audience for the Spartan damer
ON THE FIRST FIT OF THE GOUT.'
WELCOME, thou friendly earnest of fourscore,
Promise of wealth, that hast alone the power
T'attend the rich, unenvy'd by the poor.
Thou that dost Esculapius deride,
And o'er his gally-pots in triumph ride;
Thou that art us'd t' attend the royal throne,
And under-prop the head that bears the crown ;
Thou that dost oft in privy council wait,
And guard from drowsy sleep the eyes of State;
Thou that upon the bench art mounted high,
And warn'st the judges how they tread awry;
Thou that dost oft from pamper'd prelate's toe
Emphatically urge the pains below;
Thou that art ever half the city's grace,
And add'st to solemn noddles solemn pace;
Thou that art us'd to sit on ladies knee,
To feed on jellies, and to drink cold tea;
Thou that art ne'er from velvet slipper free ;
Whence comes this unsought honour unto me?
Whence does this mighty condescension flow?
To visit my poor tabernacle, —!
As Jove vouchsaf'd on Ida's top, 'tis said,
At poor Philemon's cot to take a bed;
Pleas'd with the poor but hospitable feast,
Jove bid him ask, and granted his request;
So do thou grant (for thou 'rt of race divine,
Begot on Venus by the god of wine)
My humble suit!And either give me store
To entertain thee, or ne'er see me more.
FROM THE OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE VERSES.
SINCE the hills all around us do penance in snow, And Winter's cold blasts have benumb'd us below;
The compilers having omitted some pretty verses, I have put them in here. DR. JOHNSON, * Which were thus dedicated, by Mr. Fenton, to Lionel earl of Dorset and Middlesex :
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My lord, I hope, on your return from having been admired in foreign courts to adorn our own, you will not be surprised with a privilege the poets assume, of being troublesome to persons of your rank. But they have more particularly applied themselves to your lordship's family, in which a continued race of genius has both advanced their art, and encouraged its professors, We owe the rise of our English tragedy to one of your lord ship's ancestors, who fixed us second to the Greek stage before Shakespeare wrote. And, my lord, your father came the nearest of all the moderns to Horace, in the sweetness and gallantry of his lyrics, and equalled him in satire. Thus the stream flows pure in its descent, to receive a farther increase from your lordship. We read of a Scipio and a Macenas, who used to soften the troublesome honours of state by conversing with the Muses; and cherished those arts of which they themselves were masters: yet, as single instances of this kind are not frequent, so the vein is very seldom found to have continued a second generation. But, in your lordship's line, Nature seems industrious to preserve the genius of poetry, by successively uniting delicacy of taste, and bright
Since the rivers, chain'd up, flow with the same speed
[read, As criminals move tow'rds the psalin they can't Throw whole oaks at a time, nay, whole groves, on the fire,
To keep out the cold, and new vigour inspire;
Ne'er waste the dull time in impertinent thinking,
Bat urge and pursue the grand business of drinking.
Come, pierce your old hogsheads, ne'er stint us in
.sherry,
For this is the season to drink and be merry;
That, reviv'd by good liquor and billets together,
We may brave the loud storms, and defy the cold
weather.
We'll have no more of business; but, friend, as you love us,
Leave it all to the care of the good folks above us. Whilst your appetite's strong, and good-humour
And active brisk blood does enliven your veins,
Improve the sweet minutes in scenes of d light,
Let your friend have the day, and your mistress the
In the dark you may try whether Phyllis is kind, The night for intriguing was ever design'd; Though she runs from your arms, and retires to a shade,
Some friendly kind sign will betray the coy maid: All trembling you'll find then the poor bashful Such a trespass is venial in any beginner; [sinner, But remember this counsel, when once you have
[better!" "Get a ring from the fair-one, or something's that
LET's live, my dear, like lovers too, Nor heed what old men say or do.
ness of wit, with the greatest abilities for council and action. Thus she reconciles the seasons in her most generous productions, by allowing them to bear fruit and blossoms together, and both in perfection. These shining qualities made your father the delight and wonder of his age; and had he not survived himself in your lordship, he had been the envy of ours. The praises which he received from the most refined wits of our nation have proved real prophecies of you; and it is with pleasure we foresee, that posterity, to deserve the highest characters, will form themselves on the model of your family, and copy from my lords of Dorset as the finest originals. But, my lord, I am afraid I shall forfeit all hopes of your patronage, by violating your modesty; and therefore I only beg leave to add, that as the cabinet and the field have been happily supplied, to reader her majesty's reign, at least, a rival to her virgin predecessor's; so, to complete the parallel, it was necessary that you, my lord, like another Sidney, should arise, to receive the softer arts into your protection; to excite the young writers. of this age to attempt those actions in verse, which will shine so fairly distinguished in our British story. My lord, I am your lordship's most humble, and most obedient servant,
The falling Sun will surely rise,
And dart new glories through the skies.
But when we fall, alas! our light
Will set in everlasting night.
Come, then, let mirth and amorous play
Be all the business of the day.
Give me this kiss-and this-and this!
A hundred thousand more.-Let's kiss
Till we ourselves cannot express,
Nor any lurking spy confess,
The boundless measure of our happiness.
CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA.
HAPPY the man, who all his days does pass
In the paternal cottage of his race;
Where first his trembling infant steps he try'd,
Which now supports his age, and once his youth
employ'd.
This was the cottage his forefathers knew,
It saw his birth, shall see his burial too;
Unequal fortunes and ambition's fate
Are things experience never taught him yet.
Him to strange lands no rambling humour bore,
Nor breath'd he ever any air but of his native shore.
Free from all anxious interests of trade,
No storms at sea have e'er disturb'd his head:
He never battle's wild confusions saw,
Nor heard the worse confusions of the law.
A stranger to the town and town-employs,
Their dark and crowded streets, their stink and
He a more calm and brighter sky enjoys, [noise;
Nor does the year by change of consuls know,
The year his fruit's returning seasons show;
Quarters and months in Nature's face he sees,
In flowers the Spring, and Autumn on his trees.
The whole day's shadows, in his homestead drawn,
Point out the hourly courses of the Sun.
Grown old with him, a grove adorns his field,
Whose tender setts his infancy beheld.
Of distant India, Erythræan shores,
Benacus' lake, Verona's neighbouring towers,
(Alike unseen) from common fame has heard,
Alike believes them, and with like regard.
Yet, firm and strong, his grandchildren admire
The health and vigour of their brawny sire.
The spacious globe let those that will survey,
This good old man, content at home to stay,
More happy years shall know, more leagues and
countries they.
WOULD you, my friend, in little room express
The just description of true happiness;
First set me down a competent estate,
But rais'd and left me by a parent's sweat ;
('Tis pleasure to improve. but toil to get:)
Not large, but always large enough to yield
A cheerful fire, and no ungrateful field.
Averse to law-suits, let me peace enjoy,
And rarely pester'd with a town-employ.
Smooth be my thoughts, my mind serene and clear,
A healthful body with such limbs P'd bear
As should be graceful, well-proportion'd, just,
And neither weak, nor boorishly robust.
Nor fool, nor knave, but innocently wise;
Some friends indulge me, let a few suffice:
But suited to my humour and degree,
Not nice, but easily pleas'd, and fit for me;
So let my board and entertainments be.
With wholesome homely food, not serv'd in state,
What tastes as well in pewter as in plate.
Mirth and a glass my cheerful evenings share,
At equal distance from debauch and care.
To bed retiring, let me find it blest
With a kind modest spouse and downy rest:
Pleas'd always with the lot my Fates assign,
Let me no change desire, no change decline;
With every turn of Providence comply,
Nor tir'd with life, nor yet afraid to die.
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An honest mind, to Virtue's precepts true,
Contemns the fury of a lawless crew:
Firm as a rock he to his purpose stands,
And thinks a tyrant's frowns as weak as his com.
mands.
Him loudest storms can't from his centre move,
He braves th' almighty thunder ev'n of Jove.
If all the heavenly orbs, confus'dly hurl'd,
Should dash in pieces, and should crush the world;
Undaunted he the mighty crush would hear,
Nor in his breast admit a thought of fear.
Pollux and wandering Hercules of old
Were by such acts among the gods enroll'd.
Augustus thus the shining powers possess'd,
By all th' immortal deities caress'd;
He shares with them in their ethereal feasts,
And quaffs bright nectar with the heavenly guests.
This was the path the frisking tigers trod,
Dragging the car that bore their jolly god,
Who fix'd in Heaven his crown and his abode.
Romulus by Mars through this blest path was
And 'scap'd the woes of gloomy Acheron. [shown,
In Virtue's rugged road he took his way,
And gain'd the mansions of eternal day;
For him ev'n Juno's self pronounc'd a word,
Grateful to all th' ethereal council-board.
"O Ilion! Ilion! I with transport view
The fall of all thy wicked perjur'd crew;
Pallas and I have borne the rankling grudge
To that curst shepherd, that incestuous judge;
Nay, ev'n Laomedon his gods betray'd,
And basely broke the solemn oath be made.
But now the painted strumpet and her guest
No more are in their pomp and jewels drest;
No more is Hector licens'd to destroy,
To slay the Greeks, and save his perjur'd Troy.
Priam is now become an empty ghost,
Doom'd with his house to tread the burning coast.
The god of battle now has ceas'd to roar,
And I, the queen of Heaven, pursue my hate no
I now the Trojan priestess' son will give
[more.
Back to his warlike sire, and let him live
In lucid bowers, and give him leave to use
Ambrosia, and the nectar's heavenly juice;
To be enroll'd in these serene abodes,
And wear the easy order of the gods.
In this blest state I grant him to remain,
While Troy from Rome's divided by the main;
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