HE morn was fair, the sky ferene,
The face of nature fmil'd,
Soft dews impearl'd the tufted plain,
And daify-painted wild;
The hills were gilded by the fun,
Sweet breath'd the vernal air ;
Her early hymn the lark begun,
To footh the shepherd's care:
When Mira fair, and Colin gay,
Both fam'd for faithful love,
Delighted with the rising day,
Together fought the grove:
And near a smooth translucent ftream,
That filent ftole along,
Thus Colin to his matchlefs dame,
Address'd the tender fong.
Hark, Mira, how from yonder tree,
The feather'd warblers fing,
They tune their artlefs notes for thee,
For thee, more sweet than spring;
How choice a fragrance thro' the air,
Thofe fpring-born bloffoms fhed!
How feems that vi'let proud to rear
Its purple-tinctur'd head!
. Ah! Mira, had the tuneful race
Thy heart-bewitching tongue,
Who would not fondly haunt the place,
• Enamour'd while they fung?
Ye flow'rs on Mira's bofom preft,
Ne'er held ye place so fair,
Tho' oft ye breathe on Venus' breast,
And fcent the graces hair.
Shall I to gems compare thine eyes,
Thy skin to virgin fnows,
Thy balmy breath to gales that rise
From every new-blown rofe?
Ah! nymph, fo far thy charms outshine
The fairest forms we fee,
We only guefs at things divine,
"Twas thus enamour'd Colin fung
His love-excited lays ;
with tender echoes rung,
Refounding Mira's praise:
And thus cries Love, who fported near,
And wav'd his filken wings,
What wonder, fince the nymph's fo fair,
So fond the fhepherd fings?
s fwift as time, put round the glass,
And husband well life's little space;
Perhaps the fun, which fhines fo bright,
May set in everlasting night.
Or if the fun again should rise,
Death ere the morn may close our eyes ;
Then drink before it be too late,
And fnatch the present hour from fate.
Come, fill a bumper, fill it round,
Let mirth, and wit, and wine abound;
In these alone true wifdom lies;
For to be merry's to be wife.
Against Conftraint in LovE.
OU'D you gain the tender creature,
Softly, gently, kindly treat her,
Suff'ring is the lover's part:
Beauty by constraint poffeffing,
You enjoy but half the bleffing,
Lifeless charm without the heart!
The Way to Win Her.
SWAIN, long tortur'd with disdain,
That daily figh'd, but figh'd in vain,
At length the god of wine addreft,
The refuge of a wounded breast.
Vouchfafe, O pow'r, thy healing aid,
Teach me to gain the cruel maid;
Thy juices take the lover's part,
Flush his wan looks, and chear his heart.
Thus to the jolly god-he cry'd,
And thus the jolly god reply'd;
Give whining o'er, be brisk and gay,
And quaff the sneaking form away.
With dauntless form approach the fair;
The way to conquer is to dare.
The fwain purfu'd the god's advice,
The nymph was now no longer nice:
But fmiling, told her fex's mind,
When you grow daring, we grow kind:
Men to themselves are most severe,
And make us tyrants by their fear.
And if perchance you there should find,
A nymph more lovely or more kind,
You've reafon for your tears:
But if impartial you will prove,
Both to your beauty and my love,
How needlefs are thofe fears?
If in my way I fhould, by chance,
Give or receive a wanton glance,
I like but whilft I view:
How faint the glance, how flight the kifs,
Compar'd to that fubftantial blifs,
I ftill receive from you ?
With wanton flight the curious bee,
From flow'r to flow'r ftill wanders free;
And where each bloffom blows,
Extracts the juice of all he meets,
And for his quinteffence of fweets,
He ravishes the rofe.
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