Untroubled by the breath of winds it refts,
Unfully'd by the touch of men or beafts;
High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
And rifing grafs and chearful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolness of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chace,

Narciffus on the grassy verdure lies :

But whilft within the crystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heats arife.
For, as his own bright image he furvey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he defcries,
The fpacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the watery glass.
By his own flames confum'd, the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous fhade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he flips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms purfue

}

With eager clafps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless paflion move?
What kindle in thee this unpity'd love?

Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd fhadow comes and goes,

M

Its empty being on thyself relies;

Step thou afide, and the frail charmer dies.
Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood,
Mindless of fleep, and negligent of food;
Still view'd his face, and languish'd as he view'd.
At length he rais'd his head, and thus began
To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain :
"You trees, fays he, and thou furrounding grove,
"Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
"Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie
"A youth so tortur'd, fo perplex'd as I!
" I who before me fee the charming fair,
"Whilst there he ftands, and yet he stands not there:
"In fuch a maze of love my thoughts are loft;
"And yet no bulwark'd town, nor distant coast,
"Preferves the beauteous youth from being feen,
"No mountains rife, nor oceans flow between.
"A fhallow water hinders my embrace;
"And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
"That kindly fmiles, and when I bend to join
"My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
"Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
"My charms an eafy conquest have obtain❜d
‹❝ O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdain’d. `
"But why should I despair? I'm fure he burns
"With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
"When-e'er I stoop, he offers at a kifs;
"And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.

His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my fmiles, and when I weep he weeps.
"When

"When-e'er I fpeak, his moving lips appear
"To utter something, which I cannot hear.
"Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
"To find out all the long perplex'd deceit ;
"It is myself I love, myself I fee;
"The gay delufion is a part of me.

"I kindle up the fires by which I burn, "And my own beauties from the well return. "Whom should I court? How utter my complaint? "Enjoyment but produces my restraint, "And too much plenty makes me die for want. "How gladly would I from myself remove! "And at a distance fet the thing I love. "My breast is warm'd with fuch unusual fire, "I wish him abfent whom I moft defire. "And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh; "In all the pride of blooming youth I die. "Death will the forrows of my heart relieve. "O might the vifionary youth furvive, "I fhould with joy my latest breath resign! "But, oh! I fee his fate involv'd in mine." This faid, the weeping youth again return'd To the clear fountain, where again he burn'd; His tears defac'd the furface of the well, With circle after circle, as they fell: And now the lovely face but half appears, O'er-run with wrinkles, and deform'd with tears. "Ah whither, cries Narciffus, doft thou fly? "Let me ftill feed the flame by which I die; "Let me still fee, though I 'm no further bleft." Then rends bis garment off, and beats his breast:

M 2

Nis

His naked bofom redden'd with the blow,
In fuch a blush as purple clusters show,
Ere yet the fun's autumnal heats refine
The fprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
And with a new redoubled paffion dies.
As wax diffolves, as ice begins to run,
And trickle into drops before the sun,

So melts the youth, and languishes away :
- His beauty withers, and his limbs decay,
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the flighted Echo fued in vain.

She faw him in his present misery,

Whom, spite of all her wrongs, fhe griev'd to fee.
She answer'd fadly to the lover's moan,

Sigh'd back his fighs, and groan'd to every groan;
"Ah youth! belov'd in vain,” Narciffus cries;
“Ah youth! belov'd in vain,” the nymph replies.
"Farewel," fays he: the parting found scarce fell
From his faint lips, but the reply'd, "Farewel."
Then on th' unwholfome earth he gasping lies,
Till death fhuts up thofe felf-admiring eyes.
To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
And in the Stygian waves itself admires.
For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
Whom the fad Echo anfwers in her turn:
And now the fifter-nymphs prepare his urn;
When, looking for his corpfe, they only found
A rifing stalk with yellow bloffoms crown'd.

}

THE

THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.

THIS fad event gave blind Tirefias fame,
Through Greece establish'd in a prophet's name.
Th' unhallow'd Pentheus only durft deride
The cheated people, and their eyelefs guide.
To whom the prophet in his fury faid,
Shaking the hoary honours of his head;

" 'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee "If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me : "For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here, "When the young god's folemnities appear; "Which if thou doft not with just rites adorn, "Thy impious carcafe, into pieces torn, "Shall ftrew the woods, and hang on every thorn. "Then, then, remember what I now foretel, "And own the blind Tirefias faw too well." Still Pentheus fcorns him, and derides his skill; But time did all the prophet's threats fulfil. For now through proftrate Greece young Bacchus rode, Whilft howling matrons celebrate the god.

All ranks and fexes to his Orgies ran, To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train. When Pentheus thus his wicked rage exprefs'd; "What madness, Thebans, has your foul poffefs'd? "Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken fhout, "And the lewd clamours of a beaftly rout, "Thus quell your courage? Can the weak aların "Of womens yell those ftubborn fouls disarm,