FROM MONSIEUR FONTENELLE.
I AM, cry'd Apollo, when Daphne he woo'd,
And panting for breath, the coy virgin pursued,
When his wisdom, in manner most ample, exprest,
The long list of the graces his godship possest:
I'm the god of sweet song, and inspirer of lays; Nor for lays, nor sweet song, the fair fugitive stays; I'm the god of the harp-stop my fairest-in vain ; Nor the harp, nor the harper could fetch her again.
Every plant, every flower, and their virtues I know,
God of light I'm above, and of physic below:
At the dreadful word physic, the nymph fled more
At the fatal word physic she doubled her haste.
Thou fond god of wisdom, then, alter thy phrase, Bid her view the young bloom, and thy ravishing
Tell her less of thy knowledge, and more of thy charms,
And, my life for't, the damsel will fly to thy arms.
MUCH had I heard of fair Francelia's name,
The lavish praises of the babbler, Fame:
. I thought them such, and went prepar'd to pry,
And trace the charmer, with a critic's eye;
Resolv'd to find some fault, before unspy'd,
And disappointed, if but satisfy'd.
Love pierc'd the vassal heart, that durst rebel, And where a judge was meant, a victim fell: On those dear eyes, with sweet perdition gay, I gaz'd, at once, my pride and soul away; All o'er I felt the luscious poison run, And, in a look, the hasty conquest won.
Thus the fond moth around the taper plays, And sports and flutters near the treacherous blaze; Ravish'd with joy, he wings his eager flight, Nor dreams of ruin in so clear a light;
He tempts his fate, and courts a glorious doom, A bright destruction, and a shining tomb.
LAVISH of wit, and bold, appear the lines,
Where Claudian's genius in the Phenix shines ;
A thousand ways each brilliant point is turn'd,
And the gay poem, like its theme, adorn'd:
A tale more strange ne'er grac'd the poet's art,
Nor e'er did fiction play so wild a part.
Each fabled charm in matchless Cælia meets,
The heavenly colours, and ambrosial sweets;
Her virgin bosom chaster fires supplies,
And beams more piercing guard her kindred eyes.
O'erflowing with th' imagin'd wonder drew,
But fertile fancy ne'er can reach the true.
Now buds your youth, your cheeks their bloom
disclose,
The untainted lily, and unfolding rose ;
Ease in your mien, and sweetness in your face,
You speak a Syren, and you move a Grace;
Nor time shall urge these beauties to decay,
While virtue gives, what years shall steal away:
The fair, whose youth can boast the worth of age,
In
age shall with the charms of youth engage;
In every change still lovely, still the same,
A fairer Phenix in a purer flame.
A DESCRIPTION OF THE PHENIX.
In utmost ocean lies a lovely isle,
Where Spring still blooms, and greens for ever smile,
Which sees the Sun put on his first array,
And hears his panting steeds bring on the day;
When, from the deep, they rush with rapid force,
And whirl aloft, to run their glorious course;
When first appear the ruddy streaks of light,
And glimmering beams dispel the parting night.
In these soft shades, unprest by human feet,
The happy Phenix keeps his balmy seat,
Far from the world disjoin'd; he reigns alone,
Alike the empire, and its king unknown.
A godlike bird! whose endless round of
years
Outlasts the stars, and tires the circling spheres ;
Not us'd like vulgar birds to eat his fill,
Or drink the crystal of the murmuring rill;
But fed with warmth from Titan's purer ray,
And slak'd by streams which eastern seas convey;
Still he renews his life in these abodes,
Contemns the power of Fate, and mates the gods.
His fiery eyes shoot forth a glittering ray,
And round his head ten thousand glories play;
High on his crest, a star celestial bright
Divides the darkness with its piercing light;
His legs are stain'd with purple's lively dye,
His azure wings the fleeting winds outfly;
Soft plumes of cheerful blue his limbs infold,
Enrich'd with spangles, and bedropt with gold.
Begot by none himself, begetting none,
Sire of himself he is, and of himself the son;
His life in fruitful death renews his date,
And kind destruction but prolongs his fate :
Ev'n in the grave new strength his limbs receive,
And on the funeral pile begin to live.
For when a thousand times the summer Sun
His bending race has on the zodiac run,
And when as oft the vernal signs have roll'd,
As oft the wintery brought the numbing cold;
Then drops the bird, worn out with aged cares,
And bends beneath the mighty load of years.
So falls the stately pine, that proudly grew,
The shade and glory of the mountain's brow.
When pierc'd by blasts, and spouting clouds o'er-
It, slowly sinking, nods its tottering head, [spread,
Part dies by winds, and part by sickly rains,
And wasting age destroys the poor remains.
Then, as the silver empress of the night,
O'erclouded, glimmers in a fainter light,
So froz❜n with age, and shut from light's supplies,
In lazy rounds scarce roll his feeble eyes,
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