ALCIDOR
.
WHile
Monarchs
in
stern
Battle
strove
For
proud
Imperial
Sway
;
Abandon'd
to
his
milder
Love
,
Within
a
silent
peaceful
Grove
,
Alcidor
careless
lay
.
Some
term'd
it
cold
,
unmanly
Fear
;
Some
,
Nicety
of
Sense
,
That
Drums
and
Trumpets
cou'd
not
hear
,
The
sullying
Blasts
of
Powder
bear
,
Or
with
foul
Camps
dispense
.
A
patient
Martyr
to
their
Scorn
,
And
each
ill-fashion'd
Jest
;
The
Youth
,
who
but
for
Love
was
born
,
Remain'd
,
and
thought
it
vast
Return
,
To
reign
in
Cloria's
Breast
.
But
oh
!
a
ruffling
Soldier
came
In
all
the
Pomp
of
War
:
The
Gazettes
long
had
spoke
his
Fame
;
Now
Hautboys
his
Approach
proclaim
,
And
draw
in
Crouds
from
far
.
Cloria
unhappily
wou'd
gaze
;
And
as
he
nearer
drew
,
The
Man
of
Feather
and
of
Lace
Stopp'd
short
,
and
with
profound
Amaze
Took
all
her
Charms
to
view
.
A
Bow
,
which
from
Campaigns
he
brought
,
And
to
his
Holsters
low
,
Herself
,
and
the
Spectators
taught
,
That
Her
the
fairest
Nymph
he
thought
,
Of
all
that
form'd
the
Row
.
Next
day
,
ere
Phoebus
cou'd
be
seen
,
Or
any
Gate
unbarr'd
;
At
hers
,
upon
th'
adjoining
Green
,
From
Ranks
,
with
waving
Flags
between
,
Were
soften'd
Trumpets
heard
.
The
Noon
do's
following
Treats
provide
,
In
the
Pavilion's
Shade
;
The
Neighbourhood
,
and
all
beside
,
That
will
attend
the
amorous
Pride
,
Are
welcom'd
with
the
Maid
.
Poor
Alcidor
!
thy
Hopes
are
cross'd
,
Go
perish
on
the
Ground
;
Thy
Sighs
by
stronger
Notes
are
toss'd
,
Drove
back
,
or
in
the
Passage
lost
;
Rich
Wines
thy
Tears
have
drown'd
.
In
Women's
Hearts
,
the
softest
Things
Which
Nature
cou'd
devise
,
Are
yet
some
harsh
,
and
jarring
Strings
,
That
,
when
loud
Fame
,
or
Profit
rings
,
Will
answer
to
the
Noise
.
Poor
Alcidor
!
go
Fight
or
Dye
;
Let
thy
fond
Notions
cease
:
Man
was
not
made
in
Shades
to
lie
,
Or
his
full
Bliss
,
at
ease
,
enjoy
,
To
Live
,
or
Love
in
peace
.