FROM THE SMALL-POX .

Long a lov'd fair had bless'd her consort's sight
With amrous pride and undisturb'd delight,
Till Death, grown envious, with repugnant aim
Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.
He summons each disease — the noxious crew,
Writhing in dire distortions, strike his view;
From various plagues, which various natures know,
Forth rushes Beauty's fear'd and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair the missile mischief flies,
The sanguine streams in raging ferments rise:
It drives ignipotent thro' ev'ry vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain.
Now a chill damp the charmer's lustre dims;
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims;
Her eyes, that with a glance could joy inspire,
Like setting stars, scarce shoot a glimm'ring fire.
Here stands her consort, sore with anguish prest,
Grief in his eye and terror in his breast;
The Paphian Graces, smit with anxious care,
In silent sorrow weep the waining fair.
Eight suns successive roll their fire away,
And eight slow nights see their deep shades decay:
While these revolve, tho' mute each Muse appears,
Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears.
On the ninth noon great Phaebus list'ning bends;
On the ninth noon each voice in pray'r ascends —
Great God of Light, of Song, and Physic's art!
Restore the languid fair, new soul impart;
Her beauty, wit, and virtue, claim thy care,
And thy own bounty's almost rival'd there.
Each paus'd: the god assents. Would Death advance?
Phaebus, unseen, arrests the threat'ning lance;
Down from his orb a vivid influence streams,
And quick'ning earth imbibes salubrious beams;
Each balmy plant increase of virtue knows,
And Art, inspir'd with all her patron, glows;
The charmer's op'ning eye kind hope reveals,
Kind hope her consort's breast enliv'ning feels;
Each grace revives, each Muse resumes the lyre,
Each beauty brighteus with relumin'd fire;
As Health's auspicious pow'rs gay life display,
Death, sullen at the sight, stalks slow away.