But should't thou fee, th' important fecret hide,

Tho' question'd by the powers of earth and heav'n;
The prating tongue fhall Love's revenge abide,
Still fue for grace, and never be forgiv❜n.

A wizard dame, thy lover's ancient friend,
With magick charm has deaf'd thy husband's ear;
At her command I faw the ftars defcend,
And winged lightnings ftop in mid career.

I saw her ftamp, and cleave the folid ground,
While ghaftly spectres round us wildly roam;
I saw them hearken to her potent found,

Till fear'd at day they fought their dreary home.

At her command the vig'rous fummer pines,
And wint❜ry clouds obfcure the hopeful year;
At her strong bidding, gloomy winter shines,
And vernal roses on the fnows appear.

She gave thefe charms which I on thee bestow;
They dim the eye, and dull the jealous mind:
For me they make an husband nothing know;
For me, and only me, they make him blind.

But what did most this faithful heart furprize,
She boafted that her fkill could fet it free:
This faithful heart the boafted freedom flies;
How could it venture to abandon thee!

THOUSANDS would feek the lafting peace of Death,

And in that harbour fhun the ftorm of care:

Officious Hope ftill holds the fleeting breath;
She tells them ftill-to-morrow will be fair.

She tells me, Delia, I fhall thee obtain:

But can I listen to her fyren fong,

Who fev'n flow months have dragg'd my painful chain,
So long thy lover, and despis'd fo long?

By all the joys thy dearest Celia gave,

Let not her once-lov'd friend unpity'd burn:
So may her ashes find a peaceful grave,
And fleep uninjur'd in their facred urn.

To her I first avow'd my tim'rous flame,

She nurs'd my hopes, and taught me how to fue; She ftill wou'd pity what the wife might blame, And feel for weakness which fhe never knew.

Ah, do not grieve the dear lamented shade,
That hov'ring round us all my fuff'rings hears;
She is my faint-to her my pray'rs are made,
With oft repeated gifts of flow'rs and tears.

To her fad tomb at midnight I retire,

And lonely fitting by the filent ftone,
I tell it all the griefs my wrongs infpire;
The marble image feems to hear my moan.

Thy friend's pale ghoft fhall vex thy fleepless bed,
And ftand before thee all in virgin white;
That ruthlefs bofom will difturb the dead,
And call forth pity from eternal night.

Ceafe, cruel man, the mournful theme forbear,
Tho' much thou fuffer, to thyself complain;

Ah! to recall the fad remembrance spare,
One tear from her, is more than all thy pain !'

ELEGY

NOW Delia breathes in woods the fragrant air,

Dull are the hearts that ftill in town remain;

Venus herself attends on Delia there,

And Cupid fports amid the fylvan train.

Oh, with what joy my Delia to behold,

I'd prefs the fpade, or wield the weighty prong; Guide the flow plough-fhare thro' the ftubborn mould, And patient goad the loit'ring ox along.

The fcorching heats I'd carelessly despise,
Nor heed the blifters on my tender hand:

The great Apollo wore the fame disguise,

Like me fubdu'd to Love's fupreme command.

No healing herbs cou'd foothe their master's pain,
The art of phyfick lost and useless lay;
To Pencus' ftream, and Tempe's fhady plain,
He drove his herds beneath the noon-tide ray.

Oft with a bleating lamb in either arm,
His blushing fifter* faw him pace along;
Oft wou'd his voice the filent valley charm,
Till lowing oxen broke the tender fong.

Where are his triumphs? where his warlike toil?
Where by his darts the crefted Python flain?

Where are his Delphi? his delightful isle?
The god himself is grown a cottage swain!

The Goddess Diana.

3 F 2

O, Ceres,

O, Ceres, in your golden fields no more,
With harvest's chearful pomp my fair detain!-
Think what for loft Proferpina* you bore,

And in a mother's anguish feel my pain!

Our wifer fathers left their fields unfown:
Their food was acorns, love their fole employ;
They met, they lik'd, they ftaid but till alone,
And in each valley fnatch'd the honeft joy!

No wakeful guard, no doors to ftop defire!.
Thrice happy times! But, oh! I fondly rave:
Lead me to Delia; all her eyes inspire
I'll do I'll plough or dig as Delia's flave.

ELEGY VIII.

AH, what avails thy lover's pious care!

His lavish incense clouds the sky in vain;

Nor wealth nor greatnefs was his idle pray'r,
For thee alone he pray'd, thee hop'd to gain!

With thee I hop'd to wafte the pleasing day,
Till in thy arms an age of joy was past;
Then old with love infenfibly decay,

And on thy bofom gently breathe my last!

I fcorn the Lydian river's golden wave,
And all the vulgar charms of human life;

I only afk to live my Delia's flave,

And when I long have ferv'd her, call her wife:

The daughter of Ceres, taken from her by Pluto.

I only afk, of her I love poffefs'd,

To fink o'ercome with blifs, in safe repofe, To ftrain her yielding beauties to my breast, And kifs her wearied eye-lids till they clofe..

Attend, O Juno, with thy fober ear;

Attend, gay Venus, parent of defire: This one fond wish if you refuse to hear, Oh, let me with this figh of love expire!

HE

'E who cou'd firft two gentle hearts unbind,
And rob a lover of his weeping fair;

Hard was the man-but harder, in my mind,
The lover ftill, who dy'd not of despair.

With mean disguise let others nature hide,
And mimick virtue with the paint of art;

I fcorn the cheat of reafon's foolish pride,
And boaft the graceful weakness of my heart.

The more I think, the more I feel my pain,
And learn the more each heav'nly charm to prize;
While fools, too light for paffion, fafe remain,
And dull fenfation keeps the ftupid wife.

Sad is my day, and fad my ling'ring night,
When wrapt in filent grief I weep alone;
Delia is loft, and all my paft delight

Is now the fource of unavailing moan!

Where is the wit that heighten'd beauty's charms?
Where is the face that fed my longing eyes?

Where is the shape that might have blefs'd my arms?
Where all those hopes relentless Fate denies?

When,