Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub

Such if there be, who loves fo long, fo well;
Let him our faid, our tender ftory tell;

The well-fung woes fhall footh my penfive ghoft;

He beft can paint 'em, who fhall feel 'em moft.

[blocks in formation]

1

EPITAPH

Defign'd for

Mr. Rowe in Westminster-Abbey.

By Mr. P O PE.

To the Memory of Nicholas Rowe Efq; his Wife erected this Monument.

HY reliques, Rowe, to this fair fhrine we truft,

THY

And facred, place by Dryden's awful duft:
Beneath a rude and nameless ftone he lies,
To which thy tomb fhall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless Rest!
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too bleft!
One grateful woman to thy fame fupply'd,
What a whole thankless land to his deny'd.

Two

TWO

CHORUS'S

TO THE

Tragedy of Brutus,

Not yet Publick.

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

Y

Chorus of Athenians.

Strophe I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;

Groves, where immortal fages taught ;.

Where heav'nly vifions Plato fir'd,

And godlike Zeno lay infpir'd!
In vain your guiltless laurels food,
Unfpotted long with human blood.

H 5

War,

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,

And steel now glitters in the mufes fhades.

Antiftrophe 1.

Oh heav'n-born fifters! fource of art!

Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair virtue's train along,

Moral truth, and myftic fong!

To what new clime, what diftant sky,
Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly?

Say, will ye blefs the bleak Atlantic shore,
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

Strophe 2.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost fhore
Shall ceafe to blush with stranger's gore,
See arts her favage fons controul,

An Athens rifing near the pole !

Till fome new tyrant lifts his purple hand,

And civil madness tears them from the land.

Antiftrophe 2.

Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball?

Freedom and arts together fall;

Fools

Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!

Still when the luft of tyrant pow'r fucceeds,
Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds.

CHORUS of Youths and Virgins.

O

Semichorus.

H tyrant love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd and virtuous breaftè

Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And arts but foften us to feel thy flame.

Love, foft intruder, enters here,

But entring learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,

And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, virtue, doft thou blame defire,

Which nature has impreft?

Why, nature, doft thou fooneft fire

The mild and gen'rous breast?

[blocks in formation]
« PoprzedniaDalej »