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S O N G
SONG IX. 1743.
The Attribute of VENUS.
Has all her bloom, and shape and air :
"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,
, I'hát shares the morning's tay, May to the waking swain disclose
The regen: of the day. Perhaps a plant in yonder grove,
Enrich'd with fragrant power, May tempt kis vagrant eyes to rove,
Where blooms the sovereign flower. Perch'd on the cedar's topmast bough, Ana gay
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 flower;
To tempt a votary's prayer ! How would his humble homage tower,
Should he behold my fair!
O'er Flavia's beauty range,
Nor dare, nor wish to chnage.
That killing frown has left her brow: Can she 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 flitting shower. The 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.
T'has from there fountains, bear my dear,
THEN bright Roxana treads the green,
In all the pride of dress and mien;
A little space is given ; in vain :
She comes-but ah! what crowds of beaux
But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
SONG XI. 1744.
ERHAPS it is not love, said I,
SONG XIV. The ROSE-BUD.
Where wit and sense like her's agree,
EE, Daphne, see, Florelio cry'd, Yon fhelter'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 ea:tern 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?
SON Ġ XII. 1744.
'ER desert plains, and rushy meers,
And wither'd heaths, I rove; Where tree, nor spire, nor cot appears,
I pass to meet my love,
With beauties e'er so fine ;
To fix alone on thine,
No palace please mine eye:
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.
SONG XV. WINTER, 1746.
more, ye warbling birds, rejoice :
SONG XIII. The SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE. B¥ the fide 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. Free I rang'd like the birds, like the birds free I
fung, And Delia's lov'd name scarce escap'd from my
YES, thefe are the scenes where with Iris I
SON Ġ XVI. But when, disdaining art, the fair
Affümes 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, E
More sweetly smiles the pink and rose. with melting lay salute my love:
O lovely maid! propitious hear, My Daphne with your notes detain :
Nor think thy Damon insincere. Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.
Pity my wild delusive frame: Ye flowers! before her footsteps rise;
For though the flowers are still the same, Display at once your brightest dyes ;
To me thy languish, or improve,
And plainly tell me that I love.
Imitated from the French.
Es, these are the scenes where with Iris I
But short was her sway for so lovely a maid! May 1 aphne praise thy peaceful glnom!
In the bloom of her youth to a cloyster she run; Or thou shalt prove her Damon's comb.
In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun!
Yes, these are the meadows, the shrubs, and the
plains; Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my
pains; Written in a collection of Bacchanalian
many soft moments I spent in this grove! How fair was my nymph! and how fervent ny
love! DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join
Be still though, my heart ! thine emotion give To plunge old care in floods of wine ;
o'er; And, as your dazzling eye-bails roll,
Remember, the season of love is no more.
With her how I fray'd amid fountains and bow.
Or, loiter'd behind and collected the flowers ! Rerain, as yet, some sweets for me.
Then breathless with ardour my fair one pursued, And see through yonder filent grove,
And to think with what kindnes ny garland the
view'd! See yonder dots my Daphne rove; With pride her footsteps I pursue,
But be still, my fond heart! this emotion give
o'er! And bid your frantic joys adieu.
rain would's thou forget thou must love her no The fole confusion I admire, Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire : I scorn the madness I aprove, And value reason next to love
But now, fir.ce old Eugenio dy'd The chief of poets, and the prideNow, meaner bards in rain aspire To raise their voice, to tune their lyre ! Their lovely season, now, is o’er ! Thy notes, Florelio, please no moie! No more Asteria's smiles are seen! Adieu !-the sweets of Barel 's-green!
Come then, resume thy chaming lyre,
And sing some patriot's worth sublime, Whilft I in fields of soft defire
Consume my fair and fruitless prime ; Whose reed aspires but to display The flame that burns me pight and day. O come! the dryads of the woods
Shall daily foothe thy studious mind, The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
hall meet and court thee to be kind; And l'anie fits listening for thy lạys To swell her trump with Lucio's praise. Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the sporsmen from her nest, And futtering on with anxious cries,
Too plainly fhows her tortur'd breast : O let him, conscious of her care, Pity her pains, and learn to spare.
WHXCc'er the verdant banks of Ooze
A PASTORAL ODE,
To the Right Hon. Sir Richard Lyttleton.
Does yonder halcyon speed so fast? 'Tis all because she would not lose
Her favourite calm that will not last. The sun with azure paints the skies,
The stream reflects each flowery spray: And frugal of her time she Aies
To take her fill of love and play.
Warm in some rocky cell remain;
Would only then enhance the pain.
Deform my limpid waves to-day, For I have chose a fairer hour
o take my fill of love and play. You too, my Silvia, sure will own
Life's azure seasons (wiftly roll:
To think of love but shocks the foul.
And thou art Damon's only theme; He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms,
As yonder halcyon tkims the stream.
A fullen mist had stol'n from sight
Or cheek his wandering rill.
Would oft his fate bemoan;
Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known.
Soft murmuring, not a foe :
It griev'd him to forego.
And moorcocks fl:un the day;
And scorn to quit their prey.
And raise the doubtful dawn;
That ever trod the lawn.
O dear my Lucic is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend; That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
When every Grace benigvarat smil'd, With ali a parent's breast could chuse
To bles; her lov'd, her only child: "Tis thine so richly grac'd to prove More noble cares, than cares of love. Together ve from early youth
Have trof the flowerg tracks of time, Together mla'd in search of truth,
Ö'er learnel fage, or bard sublime ; And well thy LItur'd breast I know, What wonderou treasure it cat dow.
* The Duchess, married to Sir R. Lyttleton.
That se, on all whose motions wait
Should rove where shepherds dwell.
Will nought but vice disdain ;
Amid the desert plain.
Nor equal meed receive :
And rural hands can weave, :
The prime of all the spring i
The trivial wreaths you bring.
Athenia's placid miesı ;
'Mid hazel copses green :
The glories of his line ;
As through enchantment, shine. ,
Prom Hagley's fam'd retreat ?
'[were.Cynthia's form compleat. So would some cuberose delight, That ftruck the pilgrim's wandering fight
'Mid lonely delerts drear ;
Aud crowns the fragrant year.
Her subtle force disown,
Shall paint these forms alone.
My dazzled eyes astray ;
Its more illustrious ray ?
Vihers, hid in woodlands green,
The * partner of his early days,
Had stol'n through life unseen,
To smile familiar here :
From social warmth sincere.
Admir'd this rural maze:
Might pant for Pollio's praise.
Ah! never to return !
belide his urn. Come then, my Lælius, come once more, And fringe the melancholy shore
With roses and with bays, While I each wayward fate accuse, 'That envy'd his impartial Mule
To lip. your early praise.
Her inmost wealth displays;
The pomp of ancient days,
That Thone the reeds among;
From Conway s polish'd tongue. Ev'n Pitt, whose fervent periods roll Reliftless ! through the kindling foul
Of fenates, councils, kings !
And ope his ba iful iprmgs.
Each fount and shady tree?
o peerless Aylesbury?
The princely piles of Stow;
Through self-worn mazes slow.