242 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Be still the Hautboys, and the Flute be dumb! Display no more, in vain, the lofty Banner; For see! where on the Bier before ye lies The pale, the fall'n, th' untimely Sacrifice To your mistaken Shrine, to your false Idol Honour! �IV �As Vain is Beauty, and as short her Power; �Tho' in its proud, and transitory Sway, 110 �The coldest Hearts and wisest Heads obey �That gay fantastick Tyrant of an Hour. �On Beauty's Charms, (altho' a Father's Right, �Tho' grave Seleucus! to thy Royal Side �By holy Vows fair Stratonice be ty'd) �With anxious Joy, with dangerous Delight, �Too often gazes thy unwary Son, �Till past all Hopes, expiring and undone, �A speaking Pulse the secret Cause impart; �The only time, when the Physician's Art 120 �Could ease that lab'ring Grief, or heal a Lover's Smart. See Great Antonius now impatient stand, �Expecting, with mistaken Pride, On Cydnus crowded Shore, on Cydnus fatal Strand, A Queen, at his Tribunal to be try'd, A Queen that arm'd in Beauty, shall deride His feeble Rage, and his whole Fate command: O'er the still Waves her burnisht Galley moves, Row'd by the Graces, whilst officious Loves To silken Cords their busie Hands apply, 130 �Or gathering all the gentle Gales that fly, To their fair Mistress with those Spoils repair, �And from their purple Wings disperse the balmy Air. Hov'ring Perfumes ascend in od'rous Clouds, Curl o'er the Barque, and play among the Shrouds ; ��� �
