As when with slumb'rous weight opprest, Some wealthy miser sinks to rest, Where felons eye the glitt'ring prey, And steal his hoard of joys away: He, borne where golden INDUS streams, Of pearl and quarry'd di'mond dreams, Like MIDAS, turns the glebe to ore, And stands all wrapt amidst his store; But wakens, naked, and despoil'd Of that for which his years had toil'd. So far'd the NYMPH, her treasure flown, And turn'd, like NIOBE, to stone; Within, without, obscure and void, She felt all ravag'd, all destroy'd. And, O! thou curs'd insidious coast, Are these the blessings thou canst boast? These, VIRTUE! these the joys they find, Who leave thy heav'n-topt hills behind! Shade me, ye pines, ye caverns hide, Ye mountains cover me! she cry'd. Her trumpet SLANDER rais'd on high, And told the tidings to the sky; CONTEMPT discharg'd a living dart, A side-long viper to her heart; REPROACH breath'd poisons o'er her face, And soil'd, and blasted ev'ry grace; Officious SHAME, her handmaid new, Still turn'd the mirror to her view; While those in crimes the deepest dy'd, Approach'd to whiten at her side; And ev'ry lewd insulting dame Upon her folly rose to fame. What should she do; attempt once more To gain the late-deserted shore? So trusting, back the mourner flew, As fast the train of fiends pursue. Again the farther shore's attain'd, Again the land of VIRTUE gain'd; But ECHO gathers in the wind, And shows her instant foes behind. Amaz'd! with headlong speed she tends, Where late she left an host of friends; Alas! those shrinking friends decline, Nor longer own that form divine; With fear they mark the following cry, And from the lonely trembler fly; Or backward drive her on the coast Where PEACE was wreck'd, and HONOUR lost. From earth thus hoping aid in vain; To HEAV'N, not daring to complain; No truce, by hostile CLAMOUR giv'n, And from the face of FRIENDSHIP driv'n; The NYMPH sunk prostrate on the ground, With all her weight of woes around. Enthron'd within a circling sky, Upon a mount, o'er mountains high, All radiant sat, as in a shrine, VIRTUE, first effluence divine; Far, far above the scenes of woe, That shut this cloud-wrapt world below: Superior goddess! essence bright! Beauty of uncreated light, Whom should mortality survey, As doom'd upon a certain day; The breath of frailty must expire, The world dissolve in living fire; The gems of heav'n and solar flame, Be quench'd by her eternal beam, And nature, quick'ning in her eye, To raise a new-born phoenix, die. [Illustration: _Vanity_ _Thus far extends my friendly pow'r, Nor quits her in her latest hour;_ _Page 108._ _London: Published by Scatcherd & Letterman, Ave Maria Lane._] Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view, A veil around her form she threw, Which three sad sisters of the shade, PAIN, CARE, and MELANCHOLY, made.