IV. Vain man! that in a narrow space 45 To distant climates, and a foreign air? Fool! from thyfelf thou canst not fly, Thyfelf, the fource of all thy care. So flies the wounded stag, provok'd with pain, Bounds o'er the fpacious downs in vain ; The feather'd torment sticks within his fide, And from the finarting wound a purple tide Marks all his way with blood, and dyes the graffy plain. V. But fwifter far is execrable Care 53 55 Than ftags, or winds that through the fkies Thick-driving fnows and gather'd tempests bear ; Purfuing Care the failing fhip out-flies, Climbs the tall veffel's painted fides ; Nor leaves arm'd fquadrons in the field, But with the marching horsemen rides, 60 And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield. VI. Then, fince no ftate 's compleatly blest, With gentle mirth, and wifely gay And leave to fate the reft. 65 Nor Nor with vain fear of ills to come The hero fell by fudden death; While Tithon to a tedious wasting age. Drew his protracted breath. And thus old partial Time, my friend, Thofe hours of lengthen'd life may lend, VII. 70 75 Thee shining wealth and plenteous joys furround, And, all thy fruitful fields around, Unnumber'd herds of cattle ftray. 80 Thy harness'd steeds with sprightly voice Make neighbouring vales and hills rejoice, While fmoothly thy gay chariot flies o'er the fwift meafur'd way. To me the stars, with lefs profufion kind, An humble Fortune have affign'd, And no untuneful Lyric vein, But a fincere contented mind, That can the vile malignant crowd disdain. 85 THE THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. FROM THE FRENCH. NCE, on a folemn festal day ON Held by th' immortals in the skies, Flora had fummon'd all the Deities Ye fhining graces of my courtly train, The Deities that ftood around, At first return'd a murmuring found; 5. 10 15 20 grow ? The The vilest thistle that infefts the plain Will think his tawdry painted pride Deferves the crown; and, if deny'd, Perhaps with traitor-plots moleft your reign. Vain are your fears, Flora reply'd, 'Tis fix'd-and hear how I'll the caufe decide. Deep in a venerable wood, Where Oaks, with vocal skill endued, 25 30 A lovely wood-nymph once did dwell. 35 Shone in her eyes, and did her charms inspire; A Dryad bore the beauteous nymph, a Sylvan was her fire. Chafte, wife, devout, the ftill obey'd With humble zeal heaven's dread commands, 40 To every action afk'd our aid, And oft before our altars pray'd; Pure was her heart, and undefil'd her hands. She's dead and from her fweet remains The wondrous mixture I would take, 45 This much defir'd, this perfect flower to make. Affift, and thus, with our transforming pains, We'll dignify the garden-beds, and grace our favourite plains. Th Th' applauding Deities with pleasure heard, A bufy face the God of Gardens wore ; From various fweets th' exhaling fpirits drew ;' And Vefta promis'd wondrous things to do. Of Smiles and Graces: the plump God of Wine In filence, and with awe profound. Flora thrice bow'd, and thus was heard to pray. 70 Let this fair corpse be mortal clay no more; Transform it to a tree, to bear a beauteous flower Scarce had the Goddess spoke; when see! The nymph's extended limbs the form of branches wear: Behold the wondrous change, the fragrant tree! And rich diffus'd perfumes regal'd the wanton air. 75 |