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THE TEMPLE OF LOVE; A DREAM, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When lonely night composed the drowsy mind
Last Line: And left her empire to the rising sun.


When lonely night composed the drowsy mind,
And hush'd the bosom of the weary hind,
Pleas'd with plain nature, and with simple life,
I read the scenes of Shore's deluded wife,
Till my faint spirits sought the silent bed,
And on its pillow dropt my aching head;
Then fancy, ever to her Mira kind,
Prepar'd her phantoms for the roving mind.

Behold a fabric rising from the ground,
To the soft timbrel and the cittern's sound;
Corinthian pillars the vast building hold,
Of polished silver, and Peruvian gold;
In four broad arches spread the shining doors,
The blazing roofs enlighten all the floors:
Beneath a sparkling canopy, that shone
With Persian jewels, like a morning sun,
Wrapp'd in a robe of purest Tyrian dye,
Cytherea's image met the ravish'd eye;
Whose glowing features would in point beguile,
So well the artist drew her mimic smile.

Her shining eyes confess'd a sprightly joy,
Upon her knees reclined her wanton boy;
On the bright walls around her and above,
Were drawn the statutes and the arts of love:
These taught the silent language of the eye,
The broken whisper, and amusing lie;
The careless glance peculiar to the fair,
And vows of lovers that dissolve in air;
The graceful anger, and the rolling eyes,
The practis'd blush, and counterfeit surprise,
The language proper for pretending swains,
And fine description for imagin'd pains;
The friendly caution, and designing ease,
And all the arts that ruin while they please.

Now enter'd, follow'd by a splendid train,
A blooming damsel and a wealthy swain;
The gaudy youth in shining robes array'd;
Behind him follow'd the unthinking maid:
Youth in her cheek like opening roses sprung,
Her careless tresses on her shoulders hung.
Her smiles were cheerful as enlivening May;
Her dress was careless, and her eyes were gay.
Then to soft voices and melodious sound
The board was spread, the sparkling glasses crown'd;
The sprightly virgin in a moment shines
In the gay product of the eastern mines;
Then Pride comes in with patches for the fair,
And spicy odours for her curling hair;
Rude Riot, in a crimson vest array'd,
With smooth-faced Flattery like a chambermaid;
Soft Pomp and Pleasure at her elbow stand,
And Folly shakes the rattles in her hand.

But now her feeble structure seem'd to shake;
Its bases trembled, and its pillars quake;
Then rush'd Suspicion through the lofty gate,
With heart-sick Loathing, led by ghastly Hate;
And foaming Rage, to close the horrid band,
With a drawn poniard in her trembling hand.
Now like an earthquake shook the reeling frame,
The lamps extinguish in a purple flame;
One universal groan was heard, and then
The cries of women, and the voice of men:
Some roar out vengeance, some for mercy call,
And shrieks and tumult fill the dreadful hall;

At length the spectres vanish'd from my sight;
Again the lamps resum'd a feeble light,
But chang'd the place: no splendour there was shown,
But gloomy walls, that mirth had never known;
For the gay dome where pleasure us'd to dwell
Appear'd an abbey, and a doleful cell;
And here the sad, the ruin'd nymph was found,
Her robe disorder'd and her locks unbound;
While from her eyes the pearly drops of woe
Wash'd her pale cheek, where roses us'd to blow:
Her blue and trembling lips prepar'd to breathe
The sighs that made her swelling bosom heave;
Thus, stupid with her grief, she sat and prest
Her lily hands across her pensive breast:
A group of ghastly phantoms stood behind,
Whose task it is to rack the guilty mind;
Wide-mouth'd Reproach with visage rude and thin,
And hissing Scandal, made a hideous din;
Remorse, that darted from her deadly wings
Invenom'd arrows and a thousand stings;
Then with pale cheeks, and with a ghastly stare,
Peep'd o'er her shoulder hollow-eyed Despair,
Whose hand extended bore a bleeding heart,
And Death behind her shook his threatening dart:
These forms with horror fill'd my aching breast,
And from my eyelids drove the balm of rest:
I woke, and found old night her course had run,
And left her empire to the rising sun.





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