I will not say that what is a most shining proof of our religion is not often a reproach to its professors; but this I think very plain, that whether we regard the analogy of nature, as it appears in the mutual attraction or gravitations of the mundane system, in the general frame and constitution of the human soul, or, lastly, in the ends and aptnesses which are discoverable in all parts of the visible and intellectual world; we shall not doubt but the precept which is the characteristic of our religion came from the Author of nature. Some of our modern free-thinkers would indeed insinuate the christian morals to be defective, because (say they) there is no mention made in the gospel of the virtue of friendship. These sagacious men (if I may be allowed the use of that vulgar saying) cannot see the wood for trees. That a religion, whereof the main drift is to inspire its professors with the most noble and disinterested spirit of love, charity, and beneficence to all mankind, or, in other words, with a friendship to every individual man, should be taxed with the want of that very virtue, is surely a glaring evidence of the blindness and prejudice of its adver

saries.

* court of VENUS. No. 127.

A agreeable young gentleman, that has a talent for poetry, and does me the favour to entertain me with his performances after my more serious studies, read me yesterday the following translation:

The

The Court of Venus, from Claudian, being Part of the
Epithalamium on Honorius and Maria.

In the fam'd Cyprian isle a mountain stands,
That casts a shadow into distant lands.

In vain access by human feet is try'd,

Its lofty brow looks down with noble pride

On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide channels spread,
And sees old Proteus in his oozy bed.

Along its sides no hoary frosts presume
To blast the myrtle shrubs, or nip the bloom.
The winds with caution sweep the rising flow'rs,
While balmy dews descend, and vernal show'rs.
The ruling orbs no wintry horrors bring,
Fix'd in th' indulgence of eternal spring.
Unfading sweets in purple scenes appear,
And genial breezes soften all the year.
The nice, luxurious soul uncloy'd may rove,
From pleasures still to circling pleasures move,
For endless beauty kindles endless love.

The mountain, when the summit once you gain,
Falls by degrees, and sinks into a plain;
Where the pleas'd eye may flow'ry meads behold
Enclos'd with branching ore, and hedg'd with gold;
Or where large crops the gen'rous glebe supplies,
And yellow harvests, unprovok'd, arise.
For, by mild zephyrs fann'd, the teeming soil
Yields every grain, nor asks the peasant's toil.
These were the bribes, the price of heav'nly charms,
These Cytherea won to Vulcan's arms.
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

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 platanes seem to press more nigh,
And to the sighing alders 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 pow'r 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, through heav'n 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 pow'rs o'er hearts inferior reign,

And pierce the rural fair, or homely swain.

Here

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 em'ralds, and yet scarce adorn
The ruby walls, on which themselves are born.
The pavement rich with veins of agate lies,
And steps with shining jaspers slipp'ry rise.
Here spices in parterres promiscuous blow,
Not from Arabia's fields more odours flow.
The wanton winds through groves of cassia play,
And steal the ripen'd fragrancies away.

Here with its load the mild amomum bends;
There cinnamon in rival sweets contends;
A rich perfume the ravish'd senses fills,
While from the weeping tree the balm distills.

At these delightful bow'rs 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 show'rs,
And lavishly whole streams of nectar pours;
With iv'ry combs another's dext'rous care
Or curls or opens the dishevel'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 spied her son, and fir'd with eager joy
Sprung forwards, and embrac'd the fav'rite boy.