From thankless spite no bounty can secure; Or froward wish of discontent fulfil, That knows not to regret thy bounded power, But blames with keen reproach thy partial will. 128 To check the impetuous all-involving tide Of human woes, how impotent thy strife! High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride, Nor reck thy baffled toils, or lavish'd life. 129 The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine, Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream. Such be their joys who bend at Venus' shrine, And own her charms beyond compare supreme." 130 Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight, Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant bloom; And Cupids flutter'd round in circlets bright, And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume. 131 "Thine be the prize," exclaim'd the enraptured youth, "Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless joy."-- O blind to fate, felicity, and truth! But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy. 132 The Sun was sunk; the vision was no more; Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the frown Of Jove's awaken'd wrath: deep thunders roar, And forests howl afar, and mountains groan, 133 And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain; With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound, Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main, And the strong earthquake rends the shuddering ground. [Footnote 1: This is agreeable to the theology of Homer,--who often represents Pallas as the executioner of divine vengeance.] THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY. 1 Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye? Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught, To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye? 2 Yes--from afar a landscape seems to rise, Deck'd gorgeous by the lavish hand of Spring: Thin gilded clouds float light along the skies, And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing. 3 How blest the youth in yonder valley laid! Soft smiles in every conscious feature play, While to the gale low murmuring through the glade, He tempers sweet his sprightly-warbling lay. 4 Hail, Innocence! whose bosom, all serene, Feels not fierce Passion's raving tempest roll! Oh, ne'er may Care distract that placid mien! Oh, ne'er may Doubt's dark shades o'erwhelm thy soul! 5 Vain wish! for, lo! in gay attire conceal'd, Yonder she comes, the heart-inflaming fiend! (Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?) Swift to her destined prey see Passion bend! 6 O smile accursed, to hide the worst designs! Now with blithe eye she woo's him to be blest, While round her arm unseen a serpent twines-- And, lo! she hurls it hissing at his breast. 7