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Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 95 Which long the wore, and now Belinda wears.)

Boast not my fall (he cry’d) insulting foe! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind : All that I dread is leaving you behind !

100 Rather than fo, ah let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive.

Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

105 Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But see how oft ambitious aims are cross’d, And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is lost! The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, In ev'ry place is fought, but sought in vain: IIO With such a prize no mortal must be blest, So heav'n decrees ! with heav'n who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there." There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases, And Beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes. 116 There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier's prornises, and fick man's pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120 Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the Muse-she saw it upward rise, Tho'mark’d by none, but quick, poetic eyes :

(So VER. 114. Since all things loj?] Vid. Ariosto. Canto Xxxiv. P.

M 3

(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confess’d in view)

126 A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright, The heay'ns bespangling with disheveld light. 139 The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' the skies.

This the Beau monde shall from the Mall furvey, And hail with music its propitious ray: This the bleft Lover shall for Venus take,

135
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro’ Galilæo's eyes ;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. 140
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy rą.

vish'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere !
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you loft.

Forg

VER. 137. This Partridge foon) John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfal of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English, P.

VARIATIONS.
VER. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added
for the fame reason to keep in view the Machinery of the
Poem. P.

IMIȚATIO X S.
VER. 128.

Flamur:iferumque trahens fpatiofo limite crinem
Stella micat.

Ovid.

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For, after all the murders of your eye, 145
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those treffes shall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And’midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 150

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E L E G Y

To the MEMORY of an

UNFORTUNATE LADY*.

WHA
HAT beck’ning ghost, along the moon-

light shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis she ! - but why that bleeding bosom gor’d,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell,

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Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her soul aspire
Above che vulgar flight of low desire.
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:

Thence

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* See the Duke of Buckingham's verses to a Lady defigoing to retire into a Monastery compared with Mr. Pope's Letters to several Ladies, p. 206. She seems to be the same person whose unfortunate death is the fubject of this poem. P.

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Thence to their images on earth it flows, 15
And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows.
Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris’ners in the body's cage :
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres ;
Like Eastern Kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And close confin'd to their own palace, sleep.

From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer spirits flow,

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And sep’rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the soul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood ! 30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, And thofe love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if Eternal justice rules the ball,

35 Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent herses shall besiege your gates. There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) 40 Lo these were they, whose souls the Furies steeld, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day ! So perifh all, whose breast ne'er learn’d to glow For others good, or melt at others woe.

What

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