For such a bliss he such a gift bestow'd;
The rich, th' immortal labours of a god.

A sylvan scene, in solemn state display'd,
Flatters each feather'd warbler with a shade;
But here no bird its painted wings can move,
Unless elected by the Queen of Love.
Ere made a member of this tuneful throng,
She hears the songster, and approves the song:
The joyous victors hop from spray to spray;
The vanquish'd fly with mournful notes away.

Branches in branches twin'd, compose the grove;
And shoot, and spread, and blossom into love.
The trembling palms their mutual vows repeat;
And bending poplars bending poplars meet:
The distant plantanes seem to press more nigh;
And to the sighing alder, alders sigh.

Blue heav'ns above them smile; and all below,
Two murm'ring streams in wild meanders flow.
This mix'd with gall; and that like honey sweet!
But ah! too soon th' unfriendly waters meet!
Steep'd in these springs, if verse belief can gain,
The darts of Love their double power attain :
Hence all mankind a bitter sweet have found,
A painful pleasure, and a grateful wound.

Along the grassy banks, in bright array,
Ten thousand little loves their wings display:
Quivers and bows their usual sport proclaim;
Their dress, their stature, and their looks the same;
Smiling in innocence, and ever young,

And tender, as the nymphs from whom they sprung;
For Venus did but boast one only son,

And rosy Cupid was that boasted one;
He, uncontroll'd, thro' heaven extends his sway,
And gods and goddesses by turns obey;

Or if he stoops on earth, great princes burn,

Sicken on thrones, and wreath'd with laurels mourn.

Th' inferior powers o'er hearts inferior reign,

And pierce the rural fair, or homely swain.

Here Love's imperial pomp is spread around,
Voluptuous liberty that knows no bound;

And sudden storms of wrath, which soon decline;
And midnight watchings o'er the fumes of wine:
Unartful tears and hectic looks, that show
With silent eloquence, the lover's woe;
Boldness unfledg'd, and to stol'n raptures new
Half trembling stands, and scarcely dares pursue;
Fears that delight, and anxious doubts of joy,
Which check our swelling hopes, but not destroy;
And short-breath'd vows, forgot as soon as made,
On airy pinions flutter through the glade.
Youth with a haughty look, and gay attire,
And rolling eyes that glow with soft desire,
Shines forth exalted on a pompous seat;
While sullen cares and wither'd age retreat.

Now from afar the palace seems to blaze,
And hither would extend its golden rays;
But by reflection of the grove is seen
The gold still vary'd by a waving green.
For Mulciber with secret pride beheld
How far his skill all human wit excell'd;
And grown uxorious, did the work design
To speak the artist, and the art divine.
Proud columns tow'ring high, support the frame,
That hewn from hyacinthian quarries came.
The beams are emeralds, and yet scarce adorn
The ruby walls on which themselves are born.
The pavement, rich with veins of agate lies;
And steps with shining jasper slippery rise.

Here spices in parterres promiscuous blow, Not from Arabia's field more odours flow; The wanton winds through groves of cassia play, And steal the ripen'd fragrances away; Here with its load the wild amomum bends; There cinnamon, in rival sweets, contends; A rich perfume the ravish'd senses fills, While from the weeping tree the balm distils.

At these delightful bowers arrives at last
The God of Love, a tedious journey past;
Then shapes his way to reach the fronting gate,
Doubles his majesty, and walks in state.
It chanc'd upon a radiant throne reclin'd,
Venus her golden tresses did unbind:
Proud to be thus employ'd, on either hand
Th' Idalian sisters, rang'd in order, stand.
Ambrosial essence one bestows in showers,
And lavishly whole streams of nectar pours.
With ivory combs another's dextrous care
Or curls, or opens the dishevell❜d hair:
A third, industrious with a nicer eye,
Instructs the ringlets in what form to lie:
Yet leaves some few, that, not so closely prest,
Sport in the wind, and wanton from the rest.
Sweet negligence! by artful study wrought,
A graceful error, and a lovely fault.

The judgment of the glass is here unknown;
Here mirrors are supply'd by every stone.
Where'er the goddess turns, her image falls,
And a new Venus dances on the walls.
Now while she did her spotless form survey,
Pleas'd with Love's empire, and almighty sway:
She spy'd her son, and fir'd with eager joy
Sprung forwards, and embrac'd the fav'rite boy'.

No. 128. FRIDAY, AUGUST 7, 1713.*

Delenda est Carthago.

Demolish Carthage.

Ir is usually thought, with great justice, a very impertinent thing in a private man to intermeddle in matters which regard the state. But the memorial

* STEELE'S.

i By Mr. L. Eusden of Cambridge. See No. 164. Poem.

which is mentioned in the following letter is so daring, and so apparently designed for the most traitorous purpose imaginable, that I do not care what misinterpretation I suffer, when I expose it to the resentment of all men who value their country, or have any regard to the honour, safety, or glory of their queen. It is certain there is not much danger in delaying the demolition of Dunkirk during the life of his present most Christian majesty, who is renowned for the most inviolable regard to treaties; but that pious prince is aged, and in case of his decease, now the power of France and Spain is in the same family, it is possible an ambitious successor, or his ministry in a king's minority, might dispute his being bound by the act of his predecessor in so weighty a particular.

'MR. IRONSIDE,

You employ your important moments, methinks, a little too frivolously, when you consider so often little circumstances of dress and behaviour, and never make mention of matters wherein you and all your fellow-subjects in general are concerned. I give you now an opportunity, not only of manifesting your loyalty to your queen, but your affection to your country, if you treat an insolence done to them both with the disdain it deserves. The inclosed printed paper in French and English has been handed about the town, and given gratis to passengers in the streets at noon-day. You see the title of it is, "A most humble address, or memorial, presented to her majesty the queen of Great Britain, by the deputy of the magistrates of Dunkirk." The nauseous memorialist, with the most fulsome flattery, tells the queen of her thunder, and of wisdom and clemency adored by all the earth; at the same time that he

attemps to undermine her power, and escape her wisdom, by beseeching her to do an act which will give a well-grounded jealousy to her people. What the sycophant desires is, that the mole and dykes of Dunkirk may be spared; and it seems, the sieur Tugghe, for so the petitioner is called, was thunderstruck by the denunciation, which he says "the lord viscount Bolingbroke made to him," that her majesty did not think to make any alteration in the dreadful sentence she had pronounced against the town. Mr. Ironside, I think you would do an act worthy your general humanity, if you would put the sieur Tugghe right in this matter; and let him know, that her majesty has pronounced no sentence against the town, but his most Christian majesty has agreed that the town and harbour shall be demolished.

That the British nation expect the immediate demolition of it.

That the very common people know, that within three months after the signing of the peace, the works toward the sea were to be demolished; and, within "three months after it, the works towards the land'."

"That the said peace was signed the last of March, O. S.

That the parliament has been told from the queen, that the equivalent for it is in the hands of the French king.

That the sieur Tugghe has the impudence to ask the queen to remit the most material part of the articles of peace between her majesty and his master.

That the British nation received more damage in their trade from the port of Dunkirk, than from al

* See Steele's Apology for himself and his writings, 4to. 1714, p. 73. et passim.

1 See No. 131. last letter, signed English Tory.