tid oven reul the beaten
karu Er'd is red 1

plbers of the kaffeet down,

or the pretty wanto is plond, etme beart with growing hecm, at makit. Where'e" with car's

Or round thy wicker whirl'd their rattling cars?
Thus from their earliest days bred up, and train'd
To mutual fondness, with their stature grew
The thriving passion. What love can decay
That roots so deep! Now ripening manhood curl'd
On the gay stripling's chin; her panting breasts,
And trembling blushes glowing on her cheeks,
Her secret wish betray'd. She at each mart
All eyes attracted; but her faithful shade,
Young Hobbinol, ne'er wander'd from her side.
A frown from him dash'd every rival's hopes.
For he, like Peleus' son, was prone to rage,
Inexorable, swift like him of foot

With ease could overtake his dastard foe, [proach'd
Nor spar'd the suppliant wretch. And now ap-
Those merry days, when all the nymphs and swains,
In solemn festivals and rural sports,

Pay their glad homage to the blooming spring.
Young Hobbinol by joint consent is rais'd
To' imperial dignity, and in his hand
Bright Ganderetta tripp'd, the jovial queen
Of Maia's gaudy month, profuse of flowers.
From each enamell'd mead the' attendant nymphs
Loaded with odorous spoils, from these select
Each flower of gorgeous die, and garlands weave
Of party-colour'd sweets; each busy hand
Adorns the jocund queen; in her loose hair,
That to the winds in wanton ringlets plays,
The tufted cowslips breathe their faint perfumes.
On her refulgent brow, as crystal clear,
As Parian marble smooth, Narcissus hangs
His drooping head, and views his image there,
Unhappy flow'r! Pansies of various hue,
Iris, and Hyacinth, and Asphodel,

To deck the nymph, their richest liveries wear,
And lavish all their pride. Not Flora's self
More lovely smiles, when to the dawning year
Her opening bosom heavenly fragrance breathes.
See on yon verdant lawn, the gathering crowd
Thickens amain; the buxom nymphs advance
Usher'd by jolly clowns: distinctions cease
Lost in the common joy, and the bold slave
Leans on his wealthy master, unreprov'd:
The sick no pains can feel, no wants the poor.
Round his fond mother's neck the smiling babe
Exulting clings; hard by, decrepit age

Prop'd on his staff with anxious thought revolves
His pleasures past, and casts his grave remarks
Among the heedless throng. The vigorous youth
Strips for the combat, hopeful to subdue
The fair-one's long disdain, by valour now
Glad to convince her coy erroneous heart,
And prove his merit equal to her charms.
Soft pity pleads his cause; blushing she views
His brawny limbs, and his undaunted eye,
That looks a proud defiance on his foes.
Resolv'd, and obstinately firm he stands;
Danger, nor death he fears, while the rich prize
Is victory and love. On the large bough
Of a thick-spreading elm Twangdillo sits:
One leg on Ister's banks the hardy swain
Left undismay'd, Bellona's lightning scorch'd
His manly visage, but in pity left

One eye secure. He many a painful bruise
Intrepid felt, and many a gaping wound,
For brown Kate's sake, and for his country's weal;
Yet still the merry bard without regret
Bears his own ills, and with his sounding shell,