The Progress of Beauty.
The God of Day, descending from above,
Mixt with the Sea, and got the Queen of Love:
Beauty, that fires the World, ’twas fit should rise
From him alone, who lights the Stars and Skies.
In Cyprus long, by Men and Gods obey’d,
The Lover’s Toil she gratefully repaid;
Promiscuous Blessings to her Slaves assign’d,
And show’d the World that Beauty shou’d be kind.
Learn by this Pattern, all ye Fair, to charm;
Bright be your Beams, but without scorching warm.
Hellen was next, from Greece to Phrygia brought,
With much Expence of Blood and Empire sought;
Beauty and Love the noblest Cause afford
That can try Valour, or employ the Sword:
Not Men alone, incited by her Charms,
But Heav’n’s concern’d, and all the Gods take Arms.
The happy Trojan, gloriously possest,
Enjoys, and lets despairing Fools contest:
“Secure,” said he, “of that for which they fight,
Their be the Toil, and mine be the Delight;
Your dull Reflections, Moralists, forbear,
His Title’s best, who best can please the Fair."
Ten Years, a noble Space! he kept his Hold;
Nor lost, ’till Beauty was decay’d and old,
And Love by long Possession ’pall’d and cold.
And now the Gods, in pity to the Cares,
The fierce Desires, Divisions, and Despairs
Of tortur’d Men, while Beauty was confin’d,
Resolv’d to multiply the charming Kind.
Greece was the Land where this bright Race begun,
And saw a thousand Rivals to the Sun;
Hence follow’d Arts, each studying with Care,
some new Production to delight the Fair.
To bright Egeria, Socrates retir’d;
His Wisdom grew; but as love inspir’d:
Those Rocks and Oaks that such Emotions felt,
Were cruel Maids, whom Orpheus taught to melt:
Musick and Songs, and ev’ry way to move
The ravisht Heart, were Seeds and Plants of Love.
The Gods entic’d by so divine a Birth,
Descend from Heav’n, to this New-Heav’n on Earth.
Thy Wit, o Mercury, ’s no Defence from Love;
Nor, Mars, thy Target; nor thy Thunder, Jove.
The mad Immortals, in a thousand Shapes
Range the wide Globe; some yield, some suffer Rapes;
Invaded, or deceiv’d, not one escapes:
The Wife, tho’a bright Goddess, thus gives place
To mortal Concubines of fresh Embrace:
By such Examples, were we taught to see
The Life and Soul of Love is sweet Variety.
In those first Times, ere charming Womankind
Reform’d their Pleasures, polishing the Mind,
Rude were their Revels, and obscene their Joys,
The Broils of Drunkards, and the Lust of Boys:
Phœbus laments for Hyacinthus dead;
And Juno jealous, storms at Ganymed.
Return, my Muse, and close that odious Scene,
Nor stain thy Verse with Images unclean:
Of Beauty sing, her shining Progress view,
From Clime to Clime the dazling Light pursue,
Tell how the Goddess spread, and how in Empire grew.
Let others govern or defend the State,
Plead at the Bar, or manage a Debate;
In lofty Arts and Sciences excell,
Or in proud Domes employ their boasted Skill,
To Marble and to Brass such Features give,
The Metal and the Stone may seem to live;
Describe the Stars, and Planetary Way,
And trace the Footsteps of Eternal Day:
Be this, my Muse, thy Pleasure and thy Care,
A Slave to Beauty, to record the Fair;
Still wand’ring in Love’s sweet delicious Maze,
To sing the Triumphs of a heav’nly Face,
Of lovely Dames, who with a Smile or Frown
Subdue the Proud, the suppliant Lover crown;
From Venus down to Mira bring thy Song,
To thee alone such tender Tasks belong.
From Greece to Africk Beauty takes her Flight,
And ripens with her near Approach to Light:
Frown not, ye Fair, to hear of swarthy Dames
With radiant Eyes, that take unerring Aims;
Beauty by no Complexion is defin'd,
Is of all Colours, and to none confin'd.
Jewels that shine, in Gold or Silver set,
As sparkling and as precious are in Jet.
Here Cleopatra, with a liberal Heart,
Bounteous of Love, improv'd the Joy with Art;
The first, who gave recruited Slaves to know
That the rich Pearl was of more Use than Show;
Who with high Meats, or a luxurious Draught,
Kept Love for ever flowing and full fraught.
Julius and Anthony, those lords of All,
Low at her Feet present the conquer'd Ball.
Those dreadful Eagles that had fac'd the Sun
From Pole to Pole, at length fall dazled down.
Her dying Truth some generous Tears would cost,
But that her Fate inspir'd the World well lost,[1]
With secret Pride the Ravish'd Muses view
The Image of that Death, which Dryden drew.
Pleas'd in such happy Climates, warm and bright,
Love for some Ages revell'd with Delight:
The Martial Moors, in Gallantry refin'd,
Invent new Arts to make their Charmers kind;
See! in the Lifts, by golden Barriers bound,
In warlike Ranks they wait the Trumpet's Sound,
Some Love-Device is wrought on ev'ry Sword,
And ev'ry Ribban bears some Mystick Word;
As when we see the winged Winds engage,
Mounted on Coursers foaming Flame and Rage,
Rustling from ev'ry Quarter of the Sky,
North, East, and West, in airy Swiftness vy,
One Cloud repuls'd, new Combatants prepare
To meet as fierce, and form a thund'ring War:
So when the Trumpet sounding gives the Sign,
The justling Chiefs in rude Rencounter join;
So meet, and so renew the dextrous Fight,
Each fair Beholder trembling for her Knight;
Their clattering Arms with the fierce shock resound,
Helmets and broken Lances spread the Ground.
Still as one falls, another rushes in,
And all must be o'ercome, or none can win;
The Victor, from the glittering Dame, whose Eyes
Aided hi conqu'ring Arm, receives a precious Prize.
Thus flourish'd Love, and Beauty reign'd in State,
'Till the proud Spaniard gave these Glories Date;
Past is the Gallantry, the Fame remains,
Transmitted safe in Dryden's lofty Scenes;
Granada lost, beheld her Pomps restor'd,[2]
And Almahide again by Kings ador'd.[3]
Love driven thence, to colder Britain flies,
And with bright Eyes the distant Sun supplies;
Romances, that relate the dreadful Fights,
The Loves and Prowess of adventrous Knights,
To animate their Rage, a Kiss, record
From Britain's fairest Nymph, was the Reward.
Thus antient to Love's Empire was the Claim
Of British Beauty, and so wide the Fame,
Which like our Flag upon the Seas gives Law,
By Right avow'd, and keeps the World in awe.
Our gallant King, of whom long Annals prove
The mighty Deeds, stand as renown'd for Love;
A Monarch's Right o'er Beauty they may claim,
Lords of that Ocean from whence Beauty came.
Thy Rosamond, Great Henry, on the Stage
By a late Muse presented in our Age,
With aking Hearts and flowing Eyes we view,
While that dissembled Death presents the true:
In Bracegirdle the Persons so agree,
That all seems real the Spectators see.
Of Scots, and Gauls defeated, and their Kings
Thy Captives, Edward, Fame for ever sings;
Like thy high Deeds thy noble Loves are prais'd,
Who hast to Love the noblest Trophy rais'd:
Thy Statues, Venus, tho' by Phidias' Hand
Design'd immortal, yet no longer stand;
The Magick of thy shining Zone is past,
But Salisbury's Garter shall for ever last,
Which thro’ the World by living Monarchs worn,
Adds Grace to Scepters, and does Crowns adorn.
If such their Fame, who gave these Rites divine
To sacred Love, O what Dishonour’s thine,
Forgetful Queen, who sever’d that bright Head
Which charm’d two mighty Monarchs to her Bed!
Hadst thou been born a Man, thou hadst not err’d,
Thy Fame had liv’d, and Beauty been preferr’d.
But ah! what mighty Magick can asswage
A Woman’s Envy, and a Bigot’s Rage!
Love tir’d at length, Love that delights to smile,
Flying from Scenes of Horror, quits our Isle;
with Charles the Cupids and the Graces gone,
In Exile live; for Love and he were One.
With Charles he wanders, and for Charles he mourns;
But oh how fierce the Joy when Charles returns!
As eager Flames, with Opposition pent,
Break out impetuous when they find a Vent;
As a fierce Torrent hinder’d in his Race,
Forcing his Way, rowls with redoubled Pace;
From the loud Palace to the silent Grove,
All by the King’s Example live, and love;
The Muses with Diviner Voices sing,
And all rejoice to please the Godlike King.
Then Waller in immortal Verse proclaims
The shining Court, and all the glitt'ring Dames.
Thy Beauty,[4] Sidney, like Achilles' Sword,
Resistless stands, upon as sure Record;
The foremost Hero, and the brightest Dame,
Both sung alike, shall have their Fate the same.
And now, my Muse, a nobler Song prepare,
And sing it loud, that Heav'n and Earth may hear.
Behold from Italy a wand'ring Ray
Of moving Light illuminates the Day,
Northward she bends, majestically bright,
And here she fixed her Imperial Light.
Be bold, be bold, my Muse, nor fear to raise
Thy Voice to her, who was thy earliest Praise:
What, tho' the sullen Fates refuse to shine,
Or frown severe, on thy audacious Line;
Keep thy bright Theme within thy steady Sight,
The Clouds shall fly before the dazling Light,
And everlasting Day direct thy lofty Flight:
Thou who hast never yet put on Disguise
To flatter Folly, or descend to Vice,
Let no vain Fear thy gen'rous Ardour tame,
But stand erect, and sound as loud as Fame.
As when our Eye some Prospect would pursue,
Descending from a Hill, looks round to view,
Passes o’er Lawns and Meadows, till it gains
Some beauteous Spot, and fixing there remains:
With equal Rapture my transported Muse
Flies other Objects, this bright Theme to chuse.
Queen of our Hearts, and Charmer of our Sight,
A Monarch’s Pride, his Glory, and Delight,
Princess ador’d and lov’d, if Verse can give
A deathless Name, thine shall for ever live,
Invok’d where-e’er the British Lion roars,
Extended as the Seas that gird the British Shoars.
The wise Immortals in their Seats above,
To crown their Labours, still apointed Love;
Phœbus enjoy’d the Goddess of the Sea,
Alcides had Omphalè, James has Thee.
O happy James! Content thy mighty Mind,
Grudge not the World, for still thy Queen is kind;
To lye but at whose Feet more Glory brings,
Than ’tis to tread on Scepters and on Kings:
Secure of Empire in that beauteous Breast,
Who wou’d not give their Crowns to be so blest?
Was Hellen half so fair, so form’d for Joy,
Well chose the Trojan, and well burnt was Troy.
But ah! what strange Vicissitudes of Fate,
What Chance attends on ev’ry worldly State!
As when the Skies were sackt, the conquer’d Gods,
Compell’d from Heav’n, forsook their blest Abodes,
Wand'ring in Woods they fled from Den to Den,
Or leading Flocks, turn'd Hirelings to Men:
Or, as the stately Pine erecting high
Her beauteous Branches, shooting to the Sky;
If strucken by the Thunderbolt of Jove,
Down falls at once the Pride of all the Grove,
Level with lowest Earth lyes the tall Head,
That rear'd aloft, as to the Clouds were spread;
So ———
But cease, my Muse, thy Colours are too faint,
Hide with a Veil those Griefs that none can paint:
This Sun is set———But see in bright Array
What Hosts of Heav'nly Light recruit the Day!
Love in a shining Galaxy appears
Triumphant still, and Grafton leads the Stars:
Ten thousand Loves ten thousand sev'ral Ways
Invade the Lookers-on, who die to gaze,
Knowing our Dooms, as to the Syren's Voice,
So sweet's th' Enchantment, that our Fate's our Choice.
Who most resembles her, let next be nam'd,
Villers, for Wisdom as for Beauty fam'd:
Of a high Race that conqu'ring Beauty brings
To charm the World, and Subjects make of Kings.
With what Delight my Muse to Sandwich flies,
Whose Wit is piercing as her sparkling Eyes;
Ah! how she mounts, and spreads her airy Wings,
And tunes her Voice, when she of Ormond sings,
Of radiant Ormond, only fit to be
The Successor of beauteous Ossory.
Richmond's a Title that but nam'd implies
Majestick Graces and victorious Eyes;
Holmes and St. Albans rich in Charms appear;
Hyde Venus is, the Graces are Kildare:
By Essex, and fair Rutenberg, we find
That Beauty to no Climate is confin'd.
Rupert, of Royal Blood, with modest Grace
Blushes to hear the Triumphs of her Face.
Careless, but yet secure of Conquest still,
Lu'son unaiming, never fails to kill,[5]
Guiltless of Pride, to captivate, or shine,
Bright without Art, she wounds without Design.
But Wyndham like a Tyrant throws the Dart,
And takes a cruel Pleasure in the Smart;
Proud of the Ravage that her Beauties make,
Delights in Wounds, and kills for killing-sake;
Asserting the Dominion of her Eyes,
As Heroes fight, for Glory, not for Prize.
The skilful Muse's earliest Care has been
The Praise of never-fading Mazarin;
The Poet, and his Theme, in spight of Time,[6]
For ever young, enjoy an endless Prime.
With Charms so numerous Myra can surprise,
The Lover knows not by which Dart he dies;
So thick the Volly, and the Wound so sure,
No Flight can save, no Remedy can cure.
Yet dawning in her Infancy of Light,
O see another Brudenel heav'nly bright,
Born to fulfill the Glories of her Line,
And fix Love's Empire in that Race divine.
Fain wou'd my Muse to Stowel bend her Sight,
But turns astonish'd from the dazling Light,
Nor dares attempt to climb the steepy Flight.
O Kneller! like thy Pictures were my Song,
Clear like thy Paint, and like thy Pencil strong,
These matchless Beauties should recorded be
Immortal in my Verse, as in thy Gallery.[7]
- ↑ All for Love, or the World well lost, written by Mr. Dryden.
- ↑ The Conquest of Granada, written by Mr. Dryden.
- ↑ The Part of Almahide acted by Nell Gwyn.
- ↑ The Lady Dorothy Sydney, celebrated under the Name of Sacharissa.
- ↑ My Lady Gower.
- ↑ St. Evermond, who has celebrated Madam Mazarin under the Name of Hortense.
- ↑ The Gallery of Beauties at Hampton-Court, drawn by Sir Godfrey Kneller.