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As partial to their words we prove;
Then boldly join the lists of love,

With towering hopes fupply'd:
See heroes, caught by doubtful shrines,
Mistook. their deity's deligns;

Then took the field_and dy'd.

That magic fount_ill-judging maid !

Shall cause you soon to curse the day You dar'd the shafts of love invade ;

And gave his arms redoubled (way. For in a stream so wonderous clear,

When angry Cupid searches round, Will not the radiant points appear ?

Will not the furtive fpoils be found? Too soon they were; and every dart,

Dipt in the Mufe's mystic fpring, Acquir'd uew force to wound the heart;

And taught at once to love and sing. Then farewel, ye Pierian quire;

For who will now your altars throng? From love we learn to swell the lyre ;

And echo alks no sweeter song.


Optima quæque dies miseris mortalibus ævi " Prima fugit



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'T ,

TWAS not by beauty's aid alone,
His boasted power display'd;
'Tis kindness that secures his aim,
'Tis hope that feeds the kindling flame,

Which beauty firit convey'd.
In Clara's eyes, the lightnings view;
Her lips with all the rose's hue

Have all its sweets combin'd ;
Yet vain the blush, and faint the fire,
'Till lips at once, and eyes conspire

To prove the charmer kind Though wit might gild the tempting (nare, With softest accent,

sweetest air,
By envy's self admir'd:
If Lesbia’s wit hetray'd her scorn,
la vain might every Grace adorn

Muse inspir'd.
Thus airy Strephon tun'd his lyre-
He scorn'd the pangs of wild desire,

Which love-fick fwains endure:
Resolv'd to brave the keenest dart;
Since frowns could never wound his heart;

And smiles-most ever cure.
But ah! how false these maxims prove,
How frail security from love,

Experience hourly thows !
Love can imagin'd smiles fupply,
On every charming lip and eye

Eternal sweets bestows.
In vain we trust the fair-one's eyes;
In vain the fage explores the ikies,

To learn from stars his fate :
Till, led by fancy wide astray,
He finds no planet mark his way;

Convinc'i and wife too late.

Tear bedews my Delia's eye,

To think yon playful kid must die;
From crystal spring and flowery mead,
Must, in his prime of life, recede!
I'rewhile, in sportive circles round
She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
From rock to rock pursue his way,
And, on the fearful margin, play.
Pleas'd on his various freaks co dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell :
Thence eye my lawns with verdure brigh ,
And seem all ravilh’d at the light.
She tells, with what delight he stood,
To trace his features in the flood :
Then skip'd aloof with quaint amaze;
And then drew near again to gaze.
She tells me how with eager speed
He flew, to hear my vocal reed;
And how with critic face profound,
And stedf:It ear, devour'd the sound.
His every frolic, light as air
Deserves the gentle Delia's carc;
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful kid must die.-
But knows my Delia, timely wise,
How foon this blameless era fies?
While violence and craft succeed;
Unfair design, and ruthless deed!
Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,
And yield her purple gifts no more;
Ah soon, eras'd from every grove
Were Delia's name, and Strephon's love.
No more those bowers might Strephon see,
Where first he fondly gaz's on thee;
No more those beds of flowerets find,
Which for thy charming brows he twin'd.
Each wayward paffion soon would tear
His bolom, now so void of care;
And, when they left his ebbing vein,
What, but infipid age, remain ?
Then mourn not the decrees of fate,
That gave his life so shore a date;
And I will join thy tenderelt nighs,
To think that yauch to (wiftly tlies!


and 1742


And cruel 'twere a free-born fwain,

A British youth, should vainly mork ; Written chiefly between the Years 1737 Who, scornful of a tyrant's chain,

Submits to yours, and yours alone.

Nor pointed spcar, nor links of Iteel,
S O N G 1.

Could e'er those gallant minds subdue,

Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel, Told my nymph, I told her true,

And boat the fetters wrought by you.

My fields were small, my flocks were few;
While faultering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove lincere.

of crops destroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold:
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;

10, tuneful bird, that glad'it the skich, And is not Flavia then fincere!

And there on quivering pinions rise,
How chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,

And there thy vocal art display.
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and shed a generous tear ;

And if she deign thy notes to hear,
And is not Flavia then fincere?

And if the praise thy matin song,
How, if the deign nay

Tell her, the sounds that soothe her ear,
to blesse

To Damon's native plains belong.
My Flavia must not hope for dress;
This too she heard, and smild to hear;

Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,
And Flavia sure must be sincere.

The bird from Indian groves may shine;

But ask the lovely partial maid,
Go fhear your flocks, ye jovial swains,

What are his notes compar'd to thine ?
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Dispoiid of all which you revere,

Then bid her treat yon witless beau
I know my Flavia's love's sincere.

And all his flaunting race with scorn;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,

Who sings her praise, and fin, s forlore.

Go way;

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" Ah! ego non aliter tristes evincere morbos
" Optarem, quam te fic quoque velle putere."

OW pleas'd within my native bowers

Ere while I pass'd the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers?

Were ever flowers so gay?
How sweetly smil'd the hill, the valo

And all the landskip round!
The river gliding down the dale !

The hill with becches crown'd!
But now, when urg'd by tender woos

I speed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zcal oppose,

And check my fond career.
No more, lince Daphne was my theme,

Their wonted charnis I see :
That verdant hill, and silver stream,

Divide my love and me.


1 trace the jovial spring in vain!
A fickly languor veils mine eych,
And fait my waning vigour flies.
Nor flowery plain, nor budding tree,
That smile on others, smile on me;
Mine eyes from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What bliss to me can seasons bring ?
Or what the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.
'l is true, my vine so fresh and fair
Might claim a while my wonted care ;
My rural store some pleasure yield;
So white a flock, so green a field !
My friends, that each in kindness vic,
Might well expect one parting ligh;
Might well demand one tender tcar;
For when was Damon unsincere?
But cre I ask once more to view
Yon setting fun his race renew,
Inform me, swaias; my friends, declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer ?


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SONG IX. 1743.

SONG VI. The Attribute of VENUS.


Ya Fulvia is like Venus fair;

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Has all her bloom, and shape and air : But ftill, to perfect every grace, She wants

the smile up her face. The crown majestic Juno wore ; And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore, An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien, But smiles distinguish'd beauty's queen. Her train was form'd of smiles and loves, Her chariot drawn by gen left doves! And from her zone, the nymph may find, 'Tis beauty's province to be kind. Then smile, my fair; aud a!l whose aim Aspires to paint the Cypriad dame, Or bid her breathe in living stone, Shall take their forms from you alone.

IS said that ander distant kies,

Nor you the fact deny; What first attracts an Indian's eyes

Becomes his deity. Perhaps a lily, or a rose,

That shares the morning's tay, May to the waking fwain disclose

The regen: of the day. Perhaps a plant in yonder grove,

Enrich'd with fragrant power, May tempt his vagrant eyes to rove,

Where blooms the sovereign flower. Perch'd on the cedar's topmast bough, And


with gilded wings, Perchance, the patron of his vow,

Some artless linnet, sings. The swain surveys her pleas'd, afraid, Then low to earth he bends; And owns, upon her friendly aid,

His health, his life, depends : Vain futile idols, bird or fower;

To tempt a votary's prayer ! How would his humble homage tower,

Should he behold my fair!
Yes-might the pagan's waking eyes,

O'er Flavia's beauty range,
He there would fix his lasting choice,

Nor dare, nor wish to chnage.

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Can We forgive my jealous pain,

And give me back my angry vow? Love is an April's doubtful day;

A while we fee the tempeft lower ; Anon the radient heaven survey,

And quite forget the fitting shower. I he flowers, that hung their languid head,

Are burnish'd by the transient rains ; The vines their wonted tendrils spread,

And double verdurė gilds the plains. The sprightly birds, that droop'd no lefs

Beneath the power of rain and wind, lo every raptur'd note, express

The joy i feel-when thou art kind.

SONG X. 1743.

HE fatal hours are wonderous ncar,

my dear,


VIII. 1742. W

HEN bright Roxana treads the green,

In all the pride of dress and mien;
Averse to freedom, love, and play,
The dazzling rival of the day:
None other beauty Itrikes mine eye,
The lilies droop, the roses die.
But when, disclaiming art, the fair
Assumes a soft engaging air;
Mild as the opening morn of May,
Familiar, friendly, free, and gay;
Thc scene improves, where'er the goes,
More [weetiy (mile che piuk and role
O lovely maid! propitious hear,
Nor deem thy faepherd inlincere;
Piry a wild illusive flame,
That varies objects still the same;
And let their very changes prove
The never-vary'd force of lovc.

A little space is given; in vain :
She robs my fight, and shuns the plain.
A little space, for me to prove
My boundless flame, my endless love;
And, like the train of vulgar hours,
Invidious time that space de roure.
Near yonder beech is Delia's way,
On that I gaze the livelong day;
No eastern monarch's dazzling pride
Shall draw my longing eyes alide.
The chief that knows of succours nigh,
And sees hia mangled legions dic,
Casts not a more impaticut glance,
To see the loitering aids advance.
Not more, the school-boy that expires
far from his native home, requires
To see some friend's familiar face,
or meet a parent's last embrace


She comes-but ah! what crowds of beaux
In radiant bands my fair enclose!
Oh! better had'st thou shun'd the green,
Oh, Delia ! better far unseen,
Methinks, by all my tender fears,
By all my sighs, by all my tears,
I might from torture now be free-
'Tis more than death to part with thce !

But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I thould wish, unawares, that my Delia might

With fairest ideas my bosom I stor'd,
Allusive to none but the nymph I ador'd!
And the more I with study my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.
So long as of nature the charms I pursue,
I still must my Delia's dear image renew :
The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the Muses are all in alliance with Love.

SONG XI. 1744.



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EE, Daphne, see, Florelio cry'd,


ERHAPS it is not love, said I,

1 hạt meits my soul when Flavia's nigh ; Where wit and sense like her's agree, One may be pleas'd, and yee be free. The beauties of her polish'd mind, It needs no lover's eye to find ; The hermit freezing in his cell, Might wish the gentle Flavia well. It is not love-averse to bear The servile chain that lovers wear ; Let, let me all my fears remove, My doubts'dispel-it is not loveOh! when did wit so brightly shine Iu any form less fair than thine ? It is it is lovc's subtle fire, And under friend hip lurks degre.

SONG XII. 1744.

Ġ . 'ER desert plains, and rushy meers, W here tree, nor spire, nor cot appears,

I pass to meet my love.
But though my path were damask'd o'er,

With beauties e'er so fine;
My busy thoughts would fly before

To fix alone on thine,
No fir-crown'd hills could give delight,

No palace please mine eye:
No pyramids aerial height,

Where mouldering monarchs lie. Unmov’d, should Eastern kings advance ;

Could I the pageant fee : Splendour might catch one scornful glance,

Not steal one thought from thee.

Yon shelter'd rose, how safe conceal'd!
How quickly blasted, when reveal'd!
The fun with warm attractive rays
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze:
A gale succeeds from Eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.
So you, my fair, of charms divine,
Will quit the plains, too fond to shine
Where fame's transporting rays allure,
Though here more happy, more secure.
The breath of some neglected maid
Shall make you sigh you left the shade ;
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rose, an eaflern wind.
The nymph reply'd-you first, my swain,
Confine your sonnets to the plain ;
One envious tongue alike difarms,
You, of your wit, me, of my charms.
What is, unknown, the poet's skill?
Or what, unhcard, the tuneful thrill?
What, unadmir’d, a charming mien,
Or what the rose's blush, unseen?


SONG XIII. The SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE. B¥ the side of a grove, at the font of a hill, Where whisper'd the beech, and where mur

mur'd the rill ; I vow'd to the Muses my time and my care, Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair. I'ree I rang'd like the birds, like the birds free I

fung, And Delia's lov'd name scarce escap'd from my

tongue ;

O more, ye warbling birds, rejoice : Echo alone preserves her voice,

And the-repeats my pain. Where'er my love-lick limbs I. lay,

To shun the rushing wind, Its busy murmurs feem to say,

" She never will be kind!”
The Naiads, o'er their frozen urns,

In icy chains repine ;
And each in sullen silence mourns

Her freedom loft, like mine!
Soon will the sun's returning rays

The chearless frost controul ; When will relenting Delia chase

The winter of my soul ?


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But when, disdaining art, the fair Assumes a soft, engaging air ; Mild as the opening morn of May, And as the feather'd warblers gay: The scene improves where'er she goes, More sweetly smiles the pink and rose. O lovely maid! propitious hear, Nor think thy Damon insincere. Pity my wild delusive flame: For though the flowers are still the same, To me thy languish, or improve, And plainly tell me chat I love.


with melting lay salute my love: My Daphne with your notes detain : Or I have rear'd my grove in vain. Ye flowers! before her footsteps rise; Display at once your brightest dyes ; That she your opening charms may fee : Or what were all your charms to me? Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flower, And thed its odours round my bower: Or never morc, O gentle wind, Shaill, from chee, refreshment find. Ye streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd If e'er your native sounds improv'd, May each soft murmur soothe my fair! Or, oh! 'twill deepen my despair. And thou, my grot ! whose lonely bounds The melancholy pine surrounds, May 1 aphne praise thy peaceful gloom! Or thou shalt prove her Damon's comb.

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ES, these are the scenes where with Iris I

stray'd, But short was her sway for so lovely a maid! In the bloom of her youth to a cloyster she run; In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun! Jll-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove So fatal co beauty, so killing to love !Yes, these are the meadows, the shrubs, and the

plains; Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my

pains; How many soft moments I spent in this grove! How fair was my nymph! and how fervent ny

love! Be still though, my heart ! thine emotion give

o'er; Remember, the season of love is no more. With her how I fray'd amid fountains and bow.

ers, Or, loiter'd behind and collected the flowers ! Then breathless with ardour my fair one pursued, And to think with what kindness ny garland the

view'd! But be fill, my fond heart! this emotion give

o'er! Fain would'st thou forget thou must love her no


Written in a collection of Bacchanalian

DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join
And, as your dazzling eye-bails roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl,
Not yet is hope so wholly flown,
Not yet is thought so tedious grown,
But, limpid stream and lady tree
Retain, as yet, some sweets for me.
And see through yonder filent grove,
See youider docs my Daphne rove;
With pride her footsteps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.
The fole confusion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire :
I scorn the madness 1 aprave,
And value reason next to love

A ;






THEN bright Ophelia treads the green,

In all the pride of dress and mien;
Averse to freedom, mirth, and play,
The lofty rival of the day;
Me thinks to my enchanted eye,
The lilies droup, the rules die.


Where Avon rools his winding Cream, The nymphs-how brisk! the twains--how gay! To fee Afteria, Queen of May! The parsons round, her praises sung: The steeples, with her praises rur! I thought-o-no fight, that e'er wa seen, Could match the fight of Barcl-green! z


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