No friendly moon or stars appear

To guide their steerage to the fhore:
For thee the weary foldier prays;
Furious in fight the fons of Thrace,

And Medes, that wear majestic by their fide

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A full-charg'd quiver's decent pride, Gladly with thee would pafs inglorious days, Renounce the warrior's tempting praise, And buy thee, if thou might be fold, With gems, and purple vefts, and ftores of plunder'd

gold.

III.

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But neither boundless wealth, nor guards that wait Around the conful's honour'd gate,

Nor anti-chambers with attendants fill'd,

The mind's unhappy tumults can abate,

Or banish fullen cares, that fly

Across the gilded rooms of ftate,

And their foul nefts, like fwallows, build

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Close to the palace-roofs, and towers that pierce the ky.
Much lefs will Nature's modeft wants supply;

And happier lives the homely fwain,
Who, in fome cottage, far from noise,
His few paternal goods enjoys,

Nor knows the fordid luft of gain,
Nor with Fear's tormenting pain
His hovering feeps deftroys.

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40

IV.

Vain man! that in a narrow space

At endless game projects the daring fpear!
For fhort is life's uncertain race;
Then why, capricious mortal! why
Doft thou for happiness repair

45,

To diftant 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 fmarting wound a purple tide Marks all his way with blood, and dyes the graffsy plain.

V.

But fwifter far is, execrable Care

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Than ftags, or winds that through the skies 55 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, And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield.

VI.

Then, fince no ftate's compleatly bleft,
Let's learn the bitter to allay

With gentle mirth, and wifely gay
Enjoy at least the present day,

And leave to fate the reft.

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65

Nor

Nor with vain fear of ills to come

Anticipate the appointed doom.
Soon did Achilles quit the stage,

The hero fell by fudden death;

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While Tithon to a tedious wafting age
Drew his protracted breath.

And thus old partial Time, my friend,
Perhaps unafk'd to worthless me

Thofe hours of lengthen'd life may

Which he'll refuse to thee.

VII.

lend,

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Thee fhining wealth and plenteous joys furround, And, all thy fruitful fields around,

Unnumber'd herds of cattle ftray.

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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 less 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.

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THE

THE

BIRTH OF THE ROSE.

FROM THE

ON

FRENCH.

NCE, on a folemn festal day
Held by th' immortals in the skies,

Flora had fummon'd all the Deities
That rule o'er gardens, or survey
The birth of greens and fpringing flowers,
And thus addrefs'd the genial powers.

Ye fhining graces of my courtly train,
The cause of this assembly know!
In fovereign majesty I reign
O'er the gay flowery universe below;
Yet, my increafing glory to maintain,
A queen I'll chufe, with fpolefs honour fair,
The delegated crown to wear.
Let me your counfel and affiftance ask,
T'accomplish this momentous task.

The Deities that flood around,

At first return'd a murmuring found;
Then faid, Fair goddefs, do you know
The factious feuds this must create,
What jealous rage and mutual hate
Among the rival flowers will grow?

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15

20

The

5

The vileft thiftle that infests 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 fkill endued,
Did wondrous oracles of old impart,
Beneath a little hill's inclining fide
A grotto 's feen where nature's art
Is exercis'd in all her smiling pride.
Retir'd in this fweet graffy cell,

A lovely wood-nymph once did dwell.
She always pleas'd; for more than mortal fire
Shone in her eyes, and did her charms inspire;

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30

35

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 sweet remains

The wondrous mixture I would take,

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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