"Tis true thy tuneful reed I blam'd, That fwell'd thy lip and rofy cheek; Think not thy skill in fong defam'd,
That lip should other pleasures feek: Much, much thy mufick I approve ; Yet break thy pipe, for more I love, Much more to hear thee speak.
My heart forbodes that I'm betray'd,
Daphnis I fear is ever gone ;
Laft night with Delia's dog he play'd,
Love by fuch trifles first comes on.
Now, now, dear fhepherd, come away,
My tongue would now my heart obey.
Ah Chloe, thou art won!
The youth ftep'd forth with hafty pace,
And found where wishing Chloe lay;
Shame fudden lighten'd in her face,
Confus'd, fhe knew not what to fay.
At last in broken words, the cry'd ;
To-morrow you in vain had try'd,
But I am loft to-day!
Hether amid the gloom of night I ftray,
Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day,
Still Nature's various face informs my fenfe,
Of an all-wife, all-pow'rful Providence.
When the gay fun first breaks the shades of night,
And ftrikes the distant eastern hills with light,
Colour returns, the plains their liv'ry wear,
And a bright verdure clothes the fmiling year;
The blooming flow'rs with opening beauties glow,
And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show,
The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arife,
And a pure azure arches o'er the skies.
But when the gloomy reign of night returns,
Stript of her fading pride all nature mourns:
The trees no more their wonted verdure boast,
in dewy tears their beauty loft;
No diftant landskips draw our curious eyes,
Wrapt in night's robe the whole creation lies.
Yet ftill, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land,
We view the traces of th' almighty hand;
Millions of stars in heav'ns wide vault appear,
And with new glories hang the boundless sphere:
The filver Moon her western couch-forfakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes,
Her folid globe beats back the funny rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.
Whether those stars that twinkling luftre fend,
Are funs, and rolling worlds those suns attend,
Man may conjecture, and new fchemes declare,
Yet all his fyftems but conjectures are ;
But this we know, that heav'n's eternal King,
Who bid this univerfe from nothing spring,
And rifing worlds th' all-pow'rful Word fhall hear.
Can at his Word bid num'rous worlds appear,
When to the western main the fun defcends,
To other lands a rifing day he lends,
The spreading dawn another fhepherd fpies,
The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arife,
Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil,
And bids the plow correct the fallow foil,
While we in fleep's embraces waste the night,
The climes oppos'd enjoy meridian light;
And when thofe lands the bufy fun forfakes,
With us again the rofy morning wakes;
In lazy fleep the night rolls fwift away,
And neither clime laments his absent ray.
When the pure foul is from the body flown,
No more fhall night's alternate reign be known:
The fun no more shall rolling light beftow,
But from th' Almighty ftreams of glory flow.
Oh, may fome nobler thought my foul employ
Than empty, tranfient, fublunary joy!
The stars shall drop, the fun fhall lofe his flame,
But thou, O God, for ever fhine the fame.
RE the foundations of the world were laid,
Ere kindling light th' Almighty word obey'd,
Thou wert; and when the fubterraneous flame
Shall burft its prison, and devour this frame,
From angry heav'n when the keen lightning flies,
When fervent heat diffolves the melting skies,
Thou still fhalt be; ftill, as thou wert before,
And know no change, when time fhall be no more.
O endless thought! divine eternity!
Th' immortal foul fhares but a part of thee;
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