TRUTH-AN ALLEGORY.

YOUNG DAMON is the blithest swain
That sports upon the velvet plain.
The rural hero ne'er repin'd
At hardship of the manual kind;
Ne'er look'd on labour as a curse
Or measur'd merit by the purse.
The patient and industrious bee
Is not more diligent than he;
Nor can with greater skill contrive
To bear its treasure to the hive,
Than Damon to enrich his mind,
With stores more precious and refin❜d.
From mother earth he draws his wealth,
And owes to exercise and health

His manly air, and roseate hue;

His eyes, the clear ethereal blue,

By art were never taught to roll;
Through these you may discern his soul:
That vigorous soul is unconfin'd
By prejudice of any kind:

Enamour'd in his early youth
With the celestial form of TRUTH,
He sought with zeal the radiant maid;
He woo'd her in the lonely shade :
For her he climbs the craggy steep,
He seeks her in th' unfathom'd deep:
Tho' oft obscured from his view,
Her faithful votary finds a clue,
By which her steady steps are trac'd;
And oft her deathless form's embrac❜d.
A low'ring dame with visage grim,
Upon a day, accosted him :-
Fond youth, thy fruitless search forbear;
Why languish for a fancied fair?
The good you seek you'll never find;
She's but a creature of the mind.
You strive to catch an empty sound,
For TRUTH is no where to be found.
Madam, if there be nothing true,
Sure nothing is, then what are you?
Such gloomy counsel let me shun;
You're like a cloud before the sun :
But peeping through thy envious shade,
Lo! I behold my charming maid!

A form indeed his eye had caught,
But not the peerless nymph he sought;
Smooth was her brow, her visage fair,
She met him with a winning air;
Soft was her voice, her aspect mild,
And as she spake, she sweetly smil’d.
Come, gentle youth, (she fondly cries,
With melting languor in her eyes,)
I'll lead thee to a peaceful shade
Which gloomy doubt shall ne'er pervade;
But beams from me reflected are

As strong as mortal eye can bear.
Then follow me-The youth obey'd,
And follows the delusive maid.

By various devious paths they stray,
Through which she gently clears his way:
Till on an open plot of ground

She draws a magic circle round.
Pride like a stately tree arose,

With hollow trunk and spreading boughs;
With mimic fruit these boughs were hung,
The birds among the branches sung;
While human voices join the choir,
And set young Damon's heart on fire.
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For still the sweetest tunes they raise,
In sonnets, full of Damon's praise.
That nothing ill may shock his sight,
She ne'er admits too strong a light;
But scatter'd sun-beams faintly play,
And shed abroad a milder day.

Sweet streams of self-complacence flow,
And flowers of rhetoric gaily blow;

With these she crowns th' enamour'd youth,

And fills his arms with fancied truth;

Who, to his bosom holds the cheat,
And deems his happiness complete.
TRUTH, seated on a chrystal throne,
Which with transcendent glory shone,
Shot from her eye a lucid beam,
That broke young Damon's golden dream.
The youth in an indignant heat

Turns with abhorrence from DECEIT;

Avaunt! delusive form! he cries;

You don't contain the good I prize :
Thine is a thin, external white,
But she I seek, is full of light:
Thy streams with vain ideas fraught
Are deadly foes to sober thought.

Haste! take this chaplet from my brow!
I scorn thy empty honours now.
My heavenly Mistress shall dispense
The flowers of modesty and sense.
With these my temples I'll entwine
And prize a garland so divine.
I see approach my spotless fair!
I breathe a purer, fresher air!
Doubt vanishes before her beams,
And every object's what it seems.
O come! celestial beauty, come!
Thy lips drop incense and perfume!
Let me enshrine thee in my heart,
And stream from thence through every part!

To MISS R. G.

INGENIOUS artist! thou whose magic hand, With mimic life bids the rude canvass glow; See! at thy touch the flowers of spring expand

Their beauteous leaves, regardless of the snow;