Yes there, my friend! forlorn and fad,
grave your Thomson's name ;
And there, his lyre; which fate forbad
To found your growing fame.
There shall my plaintive fong recount
Dark themes of hopeless woe;
And, fafter than the dropping fount,
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.
There leaves, in spite of Autumn, green,
Shall fhade the hallow'd ground;
And Spring will then again be seen,
To call forth flowers around.
But no kind funs will bid me share,
Once more, His focial hour;
Ah Spring! thou never canft repair
This lofs, to Damon's bow'r.
́N a vale fring'd with woodland, where grottos abound,
And rivulets murmur, and echoes resound,
I vow'd to the Mufes my time and my care;
Since neither could win me the fmiles of my fair.
As freedom infpir'd me, I rang'd and I fung;
And Daphne's dear name never fell from my tongue
And if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I should wish, unawares, that my Daphne might hear
With faireft ideas my bofom I ftor❜d;
Allufions to none but the nymph I ador❜d;
And the more I with ftudy my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impreffions fhe made on my mind.
Ah! whilst I the beauties of nature pursue,
I ftill muft my Daphne's fair image renew:
The Graces have chosen with Daphne to rove,
And the Mufes are all in alliance with Love.
E birds for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lay falute my love:
My Daphne with your notes detain:
Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.
Ye flow'rs before her footsteps rife ;
Difplay at once your brightest dyes;
That the your opening charms may fee:
Or what were all your charms to me?
Kind Zephyr brush each fragrant flow'r,
And shed its odours round my bow'r :
Or never more, O gentle wind,
Shall I, from thee, refreshment find.
Ye ftreams! if e'er your banks I lov❜d,
If e'er your native founds improv❜d,
May each foft murmur foothe my fair:
-Or oh! 'twill deepen my defpair.
And thou, my grot! whofe lonely bounds
The melancholy pine furrounds,
May Daphne praise thy peaceful gloom ;
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.
EE, Flavia, fee that budding rose,
How bright beneath the bush it glows;
How fafely there it lurks conceal'd;
How quickly blafted, when reveal'd !
The fun with warm attractive rays.
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze:
A blaft defcends from eaftern skies,
And all its blufhing radiance dies.
Then guard, my fair! your charms divine;
And check the fond defire to fhine
Where fame's tranfporting rays allure,
While here more happy, more fecure.
The breath of fome neglected maid
Shall make you figh you left the shade:
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rofe, an eastern wind.
The nymph reply'd, "You firft, my fwain,
"Confine your fonnets to the plain s
"One envious tongue alike difarms,
"You, of your wit, me, of my charms.
"What is, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
"Or what, unknown, the poet's skill?
"What, unadmir'd, a charming mien,
"Or what the rofe's blufh, unfeen?"
IV. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.
DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join
To plunge old Care in floods of wine;
And, as your dazled eye-balls roll,
Difcern him ftruggling in the bowl,
Nor yet is hope fo wholly flown,
Nor yet is thought fo tedious grown,
But limpid ftream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, fome sweets for me.
And fee, thro' yonder filent grove,
See yonder does my Daphne rove :
With pride her foot-steps I purfie,
And bid your frantick joys adieu.
The fole confufion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire:
I fcorn the madness you approve,
And value reason next to love,
V. Imitated from the FRENCH.
ES, thefe are the fcenes where with Iris I ftray'd;
But short was her fway for fo lovely a maid;
In the bloom of her youth to a cloister she run;
In the bloom of her graces, too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove
So fatal to beauty, fo killing to love!
Yes, these are the meadows, the fhrubs and the plains;
Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my pains;
How many foft moments I spent in this grove!
How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love!
Be ftill tho', my heart; thine emotion give o'er;
Remember, the season of love is no more.
With her how I ftray'd amid fountains and bow'rs,
Or loiter'd behind and collected the flow'rs!
Then breathless with ardor my fair-one purfu'd,
And to think with what kindness my garland fhe view'd!
But be ftill, my fond heart! this emotion give o'er;
Fain wouldst thou forget thou must love her no more.
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