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You bid me try, by this deceit,
The notice of the world to cheat,
And hide, beneath another name,
The secret of our mutual flame.
Damon, your prudence I confefs,
But let me with it had been lefs;
Too well the Lover's part you play'd,
With too much art
Had it been only art, your eyes
Would not have join'd in the disguise.
Ah! cease thus idly to molest
With groundless fears thy virgin breast.
While thus at fancied wrongs you grieve,
To me a real pain you give.
Though well I might your truth distrus,
My foolish heart believes you just:
Reason this faith may.disapprove;
But I believe, because I love.
0 DE, IN IMITATION OF PASTOR FIDO. (" O primavera gioventu del anno.")
ARENT of blooming flowers and gay desires,
Youth of the tender year, delightful Springs
At whose approach, inspir'd with equal fires,
The amorous Nightingale and Poet fing!
Again dost thou return, but not with thee
Return the smiling hours I once pofleft;
Blessings thou bring'st to others, but to me
The fad remembrance that I once was blest.
"Thy faded charms, which Winter snatch'd away,
Renew'd in all their former lustre Shine ;
But, ah! no more shall hapless I be gay,
Or know the vernal joys that have been mine.
Though linnets fing, though flowers adorn the green,
Though on their wings foft Zephyrs fragrance bear;
Harsh is the music, joyless is the scene,
The odour faint: for Detia is not there.
Cheerless and cold I feel the genial sun,
From thee while absent I in exile rove; Thy lovely prefence, fairelt light, alone
Can warm my heart to gladness and to love.
PARTS OF AN ELEGY OF TIBULLUS.
(" Divitias alius fulvo fibi congerat auro.")
ET others heap of wealth a shining store,
And, much possessing, labour still for more;
Let them, disquieted with dire alarms,
Aspire to win a dangerous fame in arms;
Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest,
Humbly fecure, and indolently blest;
Warm’d by the blaze of my own chearful hearth,
I'll waste the wintery hours in social mirth ;
In Summer pleasʼd attend to harvelt toils,
In Autumn press the vineyard's purple fpoils,
And oft to Delia in my bosom bear
Some kid, or lamb, that wants its mother's care :
With her I 'll celebrate each gladsome day,
When Iwains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay.;
With her new milk on Pales' altar pour,
And deck with ripen'd fruits Pomona's bower.
At night, how soothing would it be to hear,
Safe in her arms, the tempest howling near;
Or, while the wintery clouds their deluge pour,
Slumber assisted by the beating shower!
Ah! how much happier, than the fool who braves,
In search of wealth, the black tempestuous waves !
While I, contented with my little store,
In tedious voyage seek no distant fhore;
But, idly lolling on some shady seat,
Near cooling fountains thun the dog-star's heat :
For what reward so rich could Fortune give,
That I by absence should iny Delia grieve ?
Let Great Messalla shine in martial toils,
And grace his palace with triumphal fpoiis ;
Me Beauty holds, in strong though gentle chains,
Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains.
With thee, my love, to pass my tranquil days,
How would I Night Ambition's painful praise !
How would I joy with thee, my love, to yoke
The ox, and feed iny solitary flock !
On thy soft breast might I but lean my liead,
How downy should I think the woodland bed!
The wretch, who sleeps not by his fair-one's fide,
Detests the gilded couch's useless pride,
Nor knows his weary, weeping eyes to close,
Though murmuring rills invite him to repose.
Hard were his heart, who thee, my fair, could leave
For all the honours prosperous war can give;
Though through the vanquish'd East he spread his fame,
And Parthian tyrants trembled at his name ;
Though, bright in arms, while hosts around him bleed,
With martial pride he prest his foaming steed.
like these my humble vows require; With thee I'll live, and in thy arms expire. Thee may my closing eyes in death behold! Thee inay my faultering hand yet strive to hold ! Then, Delia, then, thy heart will melt in woe, Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow; Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind, Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind. But, ah! fair mourner, I conjure thee, spare Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevel'd hair: Wound not thy form ; left on th’ Elysian coast
1 Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghoft.
But now nor death nor parting should employ Our sprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy: We 'll live, my Delia; and from life remove All care, all business, but delightful Love. Old age in vain thofe pleasures would retrieve, Which youth alone can taste, alone can give ; Then let us snatch the moment to be blest, This hour is Love's--be Fortune's all the rest.
Myra, why is gentle Love
A stranger to that mind,
Which Pity and Esteem can move ;
Which can be just and kind ?