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"Then let her fate your kind attention raise, Whose perfect charms were but her second praise: Beauty and Virtue your protection claim; Give tears to Beauty, give to Virtue fame.



Ir e'er my humble Muse melodious sings,
'Tis when you animate and tune her strings;
If e'er she mounts, 'tis when you prune her wings.
You, like the Sun, your glorious beams display,
Deal to the darkest orb a friendly ray,
And clothe it with the lustre of the day.

Mean was the piece, unelegantly wrought,
The colours faint, irregular the draught;
But your commanding touch, your nicer art,
Rais'd every stroke, and brighten'd every part.
So, when Luke drew the rudiments of man,
An angel finish'd what the saint began;
His wondrous pencil, dipt in heavenly dyes,
Gave beauty to the face, and lightning to the eyes.
Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd mass;
You gave the royal stamp, and made it pass:
Hence ev'n Deformity a Beauty grew; [by you;
She pleas'd, she charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd
Though, like Prometheus, I the image frame,
You give the life, and bring the heavenly flame.
Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watery train
In streams of plenty o'er the fruitful plain;
Unshapen forms, the refuse of the flood,
Issued imperfect from the teeming mud;
But the great source and parent of the day
Fashion'd the creature, and inform'd the clay'.

Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her flight, Views her own lowness, and Parnassus' height;


Then let her fate your just attention raise, Whose perfect graces were but second praise.


"To nobler themes thy Muse triumphant soars,
Mounts thro' the tracts of air, and Heaven explores.
Say, has some seraph tun'd thy sacred lyre,
Or deign'd to touch thy hallow'd lips with fire?
For sure such sounds exalt th' immortal string,
As Heaven approves, and raptur'd angels sing.
Ah! how I listen, while the mortal lay
Lifts me from Earth above the solar way!
Ah! how I look with scorn on pompous crowns,
And pity monarchs on their splendid thrones,
While, thou my guide, I trace all Nature's laws,
By just gradations, to the sovereign cause !
Pleas'd I survey how varying schemes unite,
Worlds with the atoms, angels with the mite,
And end in God, high thron'd above all height,
Who sees, as Lord of all, with equal eye,
Now a proud tyrant perish, then a fly.
Methinks I view the patriarch's ladder rise,
Its base on Earth, its summit in the skies :
Fach wondrous step by glorious angels trod,
And Heaven unfolding to the throne of God,
Be this thy praise! I haunt the lovely bower,
Sport by the spring, or paint the blooming flower.
Nor dares the Muse attempt an arduous height, &c.

But when you aid her song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder wing, and feels the present
So the Cumaan prophetess was dumb, [god.
Blind to the knowledge of events to come;
But when Apollo in her breast abode,

She heav'd, she swell'd, she felt the rushing god :
Then accents more than mortal from her broke;
And what the god inspir'd, the priestess spoke.



WHILE past its noon the lamp of life declines,
And age my vital flame invades ;
Faint, and more faint, as it descends, it shines,
And hastes, alas! to set in shades.
Then some kind power shall guide my ghost to
Where, seated by Elysian springs, [glades,
Fam'd Addison attunes to patriot shades
His lyre, and Albion's glory sings.
There round, majestic shades, and heroes' forms,
Will throng to learn what pilot guides,
Watchful, Britannia's helm through factious storins,
And curbs the murmuring rebel tides.

I tell how Townshend treads the glorious path
That leads the great to deathless fame,
And dwell at large on spotless Engl sh faith,
While Walpole is the favourite theme.
How, nobly rising in their country's cause,
The stedfast arbiters of right,

Exalt the just and good, to guard her laws,
And call forth Merit into light.

A loud applause around the echoing coast
Of all the pleas'd Elysium flies.-
But, friend, what piace had you, replies some
When merit was the way to rise? [ghost,
What deanery, or prebend, thiue, declare?
Good Heavens! unable to reply,
How like a stupid idiot 1 should stare!
An answer, good my lord, supply.

ON A MISCHIEVOUS WOMAN. FROM peace, and social joy, Medusa flies, And loves to hear the storm of anger rise; Thus hags and witches hate the smiles of day, Sport in loud thunder, and in tempests play.


SILLIA, with uncontested sway,

Like Rome's fam'd tyrant reigns; Beholds adoring crowds obey,

And heroes proud to wear her chains: Yet stoops, like him, to every prize, Busy to murder beaux and flies. She aims at every trifling heart, Attends each flatterer's vows; And, like a picture drawn with at, A look on all that gaze bestows.

O! may the power who lovers rules,
Grant rather scorn, than hope with fools.
Mistaken nymph! the crowds that gaze
Adore thee int shame;
Unguarded beauty is disgrace,

And coxcombs, when they praise, defame.
O! fly such brutes in human shapes,
Nor, like th' Egyptians, worship apes.

They wed-but, fancy grown less warming,
Next morn, he thinks the bride less charming &
He says, nay swears, "My wife grows old in
One single month;" then falls to scolding,
"What, madam, gadding every day!
Up to your room! there stitch, or pray!")

Such proves the marriage-state! but for all These truths, you'll wed, and scorn the moral.



WHILE Delia shines at Hurlothrumbo,
And darts her sprightly eye at some beau;
Then, close behind her fan retiring,

Sces through the sticks whole crowds admiring:
You sip your melancholy co-ffy,

And at the name of man, cry, "O phy!"
Or, when the noisy rapper thunders,
Say coldly-"Sure the fellow blunders!"
Unseen! though peer on peer approaches:
"James, I'm abroad!-but learn the coaches."
As some young pleader, when his purse is
Unfill'd through want of controversies,
Attends, until the chinks are fill'd all,
Th' assizes, Westminster,, and Guildhall:
While graver lawyers keep their house, and
Collect the guineas by the thousand:
Or as some tradesmen, through show-glasses,
Expose their wares to each that passes;
Toys of no use! high-priz'd commodities
Bought to no end! estates in oddities!
Others, with like advantage, drive at
Their gain, from store-houses in private:
Thus Delia shines in places general,
Is never missing where the men are all;
Goes ev'n to church with godly airs,
To meet good company at prayers;
Where she devoutly plays her fan,
Looks up to Heaven, but thinks on man..
You sit at home; enjoy your cousin',
While hearts are offer'd by the dozen :
Oh! born above your sex to rise,
With youth, wealth, beauty, titles-wise!

O lady bright, did ne'er you mark yet,
In country fair, or country market,
A beau, whose eloquence might charm ye,
Enlisting soldiers for the army?

He flatters every well-built youth,
And tells him every thing but-truth.

He cries, "Good friend, I'm glad I hap'd in
Your company, you'll make a captain!"
He lists-but finds these gaudy shows
Soon chang'd to surly looks, and blows:

"Tis now, "March, rascal! what, d' ye grumble?"
Thwack, goes the cane! "I'll make you humble,"
Such weddings are: and I resemble 'em,
Almost in all points, to this emblem.

While courtship lasts, 'tis, "Dear," 'tis, " Madam!
The sweetest creature sure since Adam!
Had I the years of a Methusalem,

How in my charmer's praise I'd use all 'em!
Oh! take me to thy arms, my beauty!

I doat, adore the very shoe-tye!"

7 Mrs. Sth.

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As when the King of Peace, and Lord of Love,
Sends down some brighter angel from above,
Pleas'd with the beauties of the heavenly guest,
Awhile we view him in full glory drest;
But he, impatient from his Heaven to stay,
Soon disappears, and wings his airy way;
So didst thou vanish, eager to appear,
And shine triumphant in thy native sphere.

Yet had'st thou all that Virtue can bestow,
All, the good practise, and the learned know;
Such holy rapture, as not warms, but fires,
While the soul seems retiring, or retires;
Such transports as those saints in vision share,
Who know not whether they are rapt through air,
Or bring down Heaven to meet them in a prayer.
Oh! early lost! yet stedfast to survey
Envy, Disease, and Death, without dismay;
Serene, the sting of pain thy thoughts beguile,
And make afflictions, objects of a smile.
So the fam'd patriarch, on his couch of stone,
Enjoy'd bright visions from th' eternal throne.
Thus wean'd from Earth, where Pleasure scarce

can please,


Thy woes but hasten'd thee to Heaven and peace: As angry winds, when loud the tempest roars, More swiftly speed the vessel to the shores.

Oh! may these lays a lasting lustre shed O'er thy dark urn, like lamps that grace the dead! Strong were thy thoughts, yet Reason bore the sway; Humble, yet learn'd; though innocent, yet gay: So pure of heart, that thou might'st safely show Thy inmost bosom to thy basest foe: Careless of wealth, thy bliss a calm retreat, Far from the insults of the scornful great; Thence looking with disdain on proudest things, Thou deemed'st mean the pageantry of kings; Who build their pride on trappings of a throne, A painted ribband, or a glittering stone, Uselessly bright! "Twas thine the soul to raise To nobler objects, such as angel's praise! To live, to mortals' empty fame, a foe; And pity human joy, and human woe! To view ev'n splendid Vice with generous hate; In life unblemish'd, and in death sedate! Then Conscience, shining with a lenient ray, Dawn'd o'er thy soul, and promis'd endless day. So from the setting orb of Phoebus fly, Beams of calm light, and glitter to the sky.

• The gout.

Where now, oh! where shall I true friendship find
Among the treacherous race of base mankind?
Whom, whom consult in all th' uncertain ways
Of various life, sincere to blame, or praise!
O! friend! O! falling in thy strength of years,
Warm from the melting soul receive these tears!
O! Woods! O! Wilds! O! every bowery Shade!
So often vocal by his music made,

Now other sounds-far other sounds return,
And o'er his hearse with all your Echoes mourn!-
Yet dare we grieve that soon the paths he trod
To Heaven, and left vain man for saints and God?
Thus in the theatre the scenes unfold

A thousand wonders, glorious to behold;
And here, or there, as the machine extends,
A hero rises, or a god descends:
But soon the momentary pleasure flies,
Swift vanishes the god, or hero dies

Where were ye, Muses, by what fountain side,
What river sporting, when your favourite dy'd?
He knew by verse to chain the headlong floods,
Silence loud winds, or charm attentive woods;
Nor deign'd but to high themes' to tune the string,
To such as Heaven might hear, and angels sing;
Unlike those bards, who, uninform'd to play,
Grate on their jarring pipes a flashy lay:
Each line display'd united strength and ease,
Form'd, like his manners, to instruct and please.
So herbs of balmy excellence produce
A blooming flower and salutary juice:
And while each plant a smiling grace reveals,
Usefully gay! at once it charms, and heals.
Transcend ev'n after death, ye great, in show ;
Lend pomp to ashes, and be vain in woe;
Hire substitutes to mourn with formal cries,
And bribe unwilling drops from venal eyes;
While here sincerity of grief appears,
Silence that speaks, and Eloquence in tears!
While, tir'd of life, we but consent to live
To show the world how really we grieve!
As some fond sire, whose only son lies dead,
All lost to comfort makes the dust his bed,
Hangs o'er his urn, with frantic grief deplores,
And bathes his clay-cold cheek with copious showers;
Such heart-felt pangs on thy sad bier attend;
Companion! brother! all in one-my friend!
Unless the soul a wound eternal bears,
Sighs are but air; but common water, tears:
The proud, relentless, weep in state, and show
Not sorrow, but magnificence of woe.

Thus in the fountain, from the sculptor's hands, With imitated life, an image stands; From rocky entrails, through his stony eyes, The mimic tears in streams incessant rise: Unconscious! while aloft the waters flow, The gazers' wonder, and a public show.

Ye hallow'd Domes, his frequent visits tell; Thou Court, where God himself delights to dwell; Thou mystic Table, and thou holy Feast, How often have ye seen the sacred guest! How oft his soul with heavenly manna fed! His faith enliven'd, while his sin lay dead! While listening angels heard such raptures rise, As, when they hymn th' Almighty, charm the skies! But where, now where, without the body's aid, New to the Heavens, subsists thy gentle shade? Glides it beyond our gross imperfect sky, Pleas'd, high o'er stars, from world to world, to fly!

Mr. Fenton intended to write upon moral subjects.

| And fearless marks the comet's dreadful blaze,
While monarchs quake, and trembling nations gaze?
Or holds deep converse with the mighty dead,
Champions of Virtue, who for Virtue bled?
Or joins in concert with angelic choirs,
Where hymning seraphs sound their golden lyres,
Where raptur'd saints unfading crowns inwreath,
Triumphant o'er the World, o'er Sin, and Death?
O! may the thought his friend's devotion raise !
O! may he imitate, as well as praise!
Awake, my heavy soul! and upward fly,
Speak to the saint, and meet him in the sky,
And ask the certain way to rise as high.


I PREFIX your name to the following poem, as a monument of the long and sincere friendship I have borne you: I am sensible you are too good a judge of poetry to approve it; however, it will be a testimony of my respect: You conferred obligations upon me very early in life, almost as soon as I was capable of receiving them: May these verses on Death long survive my own! and remain a memorial of our friendship, and my gratitude, when I am no more.

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OH! for Elijah's car, to wing my way
O'er the dark gulph of Death to endless day!
A thousand ways, alas! frail mortals lead
To her dire den, and dreadful all to tread !
See! in the horrours of yon house of woes,
Troops of all maladies the fiend enclose!
High on a trophy rais'd of human bones,
Swords, spears, and arrows, and sepulchral stones,
In horrid state she reigns! attendant ills
Besiege her throne, and when she frowns, she kills!
'I hro' the thick gloom the torch red-gleaming burns
O'er shrouds, and sable palls, and mouldering urns;
While flowing stoles, black plumes, and scutcheons
An idle pomp around the silent dead: [spread
Unaw'd by power, in common heap she flings
The scrips of beggars, and the crowns of kings:
Here gales of sighs, instead of breezes, blow,
And streams of tears for ever murmuring flow:
The mournful yew with solemn horrour waves
His baleful branches, saddening even the graves:
Around all birds obscene loud-screeming fly,
Clang their black wings, and shriek along the sky:
The ground perverse, tho' bare and barren, breeds
All poisons, foes to life, and noxious weeds;
But, blasted frequent by th' unwholesome sky,
Dead fall the birds, the very poisons die.

Full in the entrance of the dreadful doors,
Old-age, half vanish'd to a ghost, deplores:
Propp'd on his crutch, he drags with many a groan
The load of life, yet dreads to lay it down.

There, downward driving an unnumber'd band, Intemperance and Disease walk hand in hand: These, Torment, whirling with remorseless sway A scourge of iron, lashes on the way.

There frantic Anger, prone to wild extremes, Grasps an ensanguin'd sword, and Heaven blasThere heart-sick Agony distorted stands, [phemes. Writhes his convulsive limbs, and wrings his hands. There Sorrow droops his ever pensive head, And Care still tosses on his iron bed: Or, musing, fastens on the ground his eye, With folded arms; with every breath a sigh. Hydrops unwieldly wallows in a flood; And Murther rages, red with human blood, With Fever, Famine, and afflictive Pain, Plague, Pestilence, and War, a dismal train! These, and a thousand more, the fiend surround, Shrieks pierce the air, and groans to groans resound.


O! Heavens! is this the passage to the skies
That man must tread, when man, your favourite,
Oh! for Elijah's car to wing my way
O'er the dark gulph of Death to endless day!
Confounded at the sight, my spirits fled,
My eyes rain'd tears, my very heart was dead!
I wail'd the lot of man, that all would shun,
And all must bear that breathe beneath the Sun.
When lo! an heavenly form, divinely fair,
Shoots from the starry vault through fields of air;
And, swifter than on wings of lightning driven,
At once seems here and there, in Earth and Hea-
A dazzling brightness in refulgent streams: [ven!
Flows from his locks inwreath'd with sunny beams:
His roseate cheeks the bloom of Heaven display,
And from his eyes dart glories, more than day:
A robe, of light condens'd, around him shone,
And his loins glitter'd with a starry zone:
And while the listening Winds lay hush'd to hear,
Thus spoke the vision, amiably severe !


"Vain man! wouldst thou escape the common To live, to suffer, die, and be forgot? Look back on ancient times, primeval years, All, all are past! a mighty void appears! Heroes, and kings, those gods of Earth, whose fame Aw'd half the nations, now are but a name! The great in arts or arms, the wise, the just, Mix with the meanest in congenial dust! Ev'n saints and prophets the same paths have trod, Ambassadors of Heaven, and friends of God! And thou, wouldst thou the general sentence fly? Moses is dead! thy Saviour deign'd to die! Mortal, in all thy acts regard thy end! [friend: Live well, the time thou liv'st, and Death's thy Then curb each rebel thought against the Sky, And die resign'd, O! Man ordain'd to die!"

He added not, but spread his wings in flight, And vanish'd instant in a blaze of light.

Abash'd, asham'd, I cry, " Eternal Power,
I yield! I wait resign'd th' appointed hour!
Man, foolish man, no more thy soul deceive!
To die, is but the surest way to live:
When age we ask, we ask it in our wrong,
And pray our time of suffering may be long;
The nauseous draught, and dregs of life to drain,
And feel infirmity, and length of pain!
What art thou, Life, that we should court thy

A breath, one single gasp must puff away!
A short-liv'd flower, that with the day must fade!
A flecting vapour, and an empty shade!

A stream, that silently but swiftly glides

To meet Eternity's immeasur'd tides!

A being, lost alike by pain or joy!
A fly can kill it, or a worm destroy,

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Impair'd by labour, and by case undone,
Commenc'd in tears, and ended in a groan!
Ev'n while I write, the transient Now is past,
And Death more near, this sentence than the

As some weak isthmus seas from seas divides,
Beat by rude waves, and sapp'd by rushing tides,
Torn from its base, no more their fury bears,
At once they close, at once it disappears:
Such, such is life! the mark of misery plac'd
Between two worlds, the future and the past;
To Time, to Sickness, and to Death, a prey,
It sinks, the frail possession of a day!

As some fond boy, in sport, along the shore
Builds from the sands a fabric of an hour;
Proud of his spacious walls, and stately rooms,
He styles the mimic cells imperial domes;
The little monarch swells with fancy'd sway,
Till some wind rising puffs the dome away:
So the poor reptile, man! an heir of woe,
The lord of earth and ocean, swells in show;
He plants, he builds, aloft the walls arise!
The noble plan he finishes, and-dies.
Swept from the Earth, he shares the common fate;
His sole distinction now, to rot in state!
Thus busy to no end till out of breath,
Tir'd we lie down, and close up all in death. [led
Then blest the man whom gracious Heaven has
Through life's blind mazes to th' immortal dead!
Who, safely landed on the blissful shore,
Nor human folly feels nor frailty more!
O! Death, thou cure of all our idle strife!
End of the gay, or serious farce of life!
Wish of the just, and refuge of th' opprest!
Where Poverty, and where ev'n kings find rest!
Safe from the frowns of power! calm, thoughtful
And the rude insults of the scornful great! [hate!
The grave is sacred! wrath and malice dread
To violate its peace, and wrong the dead:
But Life, thy name is Woe! to Death we fly
To grow immortal into life we die!
Then wisely Heaven in silence has confin'd
The happier dead, lest none should stay behind.
What though the path be dark that must be trod,
Though man be blotted from the works of God,
Though the four winds his scattered atoms bear
To Earth's extremes, thro' all th' expanse of air;
Yet bursting glorious from the silent clay,
He mounts triumphant to eternal day.

So, when the Sun rolls down th' ethereal plain, Extinct his splendours in the whelming main, A transient night earth, air, and heaven invades, Eclips'd in horrours of surrounding shades; But soon, emerging with a fresher ray, He starts exultant, and renews the day.


eyes with floods of tears o'erflow,
My bosom heaves with constant woe;
Those eyes, which thy unkindness swells;
That bosom, where thy image dwells;

How could I hope so weak a flame
Could ever warm that matchless dame,
When none Elysium must behold,
Without a radiant bough of gold?
"Tis hers, in spheres to shine;

At distance to admire, is mine:

Doom'd, like th' enamour'd youth', to groan For a new goddess form'd of stone.

While thus I spoke, Love's gentle power
Descended from th' ethereal bower;
A quiver at his shoulder hung,

A shaft he grasp'd, and bow unstrung.
All nature own'd the genial god,

And the Spring flourish'd where he trod:
My heart, no stranger to the guest,
Flutter'd, and labour'd in my breast;
When, with a smile that kindles joy
Ev'n in the gods, began the boy:

"How vain these tears! is man decreed,
By being abject, to succeed?
Hop'st thou by meagre looks to move?
Are women frighten'd into love?
He most prevails, who nobly dares;
In love a hero, as in wars:
Ev'n Venus may be known to yield,
But 'tis when Mars disputes the field:
Sent from a daring hand my dart
Strikes deep into the fair-one's heart:
To winds and waves thy cares bequeath,
A sigh is but a waste of breath..
What though gay youth, and every grace
That Beauty boasts, adorn her face;
Yet goddesses have deign'd to wed,
And take a mortal to their bed:
And Heaven, when gifts of incense rise,
Accepts it, though it cloud their skies.
"Mark! how this Marygold conceals
Her beauty, and her bosom veils;
How from the dull embrace she flies
Of Phoebus, when his beams arise:
But when his glory he displays,
And darts around his fiercer rays,
Her charms she opens, and receives
The vigorous god into her leaves."



I WHO was once the glory of the plain,
The fairest virgin of the virgin train,
And now (by thee, O! faithless man, betray'd!)
A fall'n, a lost, a miserable maid.

Ye Winds, that witness to my deep despair,
Receive my sighs, and waft them through the air,
And gently breathe them to my Damon's ear!
Curst, ever curst be that unlucky day,
When, trembling, sighing, at my feet he lay,
I trembled, sigh'd, and look'd my heart away y!
Why was he form'd, ye powers, his sex's pride,
Too false to love, too fair to be deny'd?
Ye heedless virgins, gaze not on his eyes;
Lovely they are, but she that gazes dies!
Oh! fly his voice, be deaf to all he says;
Charms has his voice, but charming it betrays!
At every word, each motion of his eye,

A thousand Loves are born, a thousand lovers die.
Say, gentle youths, ye blest Arcadian swains,
Inhabitants of these delightful plains,
Say, by what fountain, in what rosy bower,
Reclines my charmer in the noon-tide hour!
To you, dear fugitive, where'er you stray,
Wild with despair, impatient of delay,
Swift on the wings of eager Love I fly,
Or send my soul still swifter in a sigh !

1 Polydorus who pined to death for the love of a beautiful statue.

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I'd then inform you of your Celia's cares,
And try the eloquence of female tears;
Fearless I'd pass where Desolation reigns,
Tread the wild waste, or burning Libyan plains:
Or where the North his furious pinions tries,
And howling hurricanes embroil the skies!
Should all the monsters in Getulia bred
Oppose the passage of a tender maid;
Dauntless, if Damon calls, his Cælia speeds
Through all the monsters that Getulia breeds!
Bold was Bonduca, and her arrows flew
Swift and unerring from the twanging yew:
By Love inspir'd, I'll teach the shaft to fly;
For thee I'd conquer, or at least would die!
If o'er the dreary Caucasus you go,

Or mountains crown'd with everlasting snow,
Where through the freezing skies in storms it pours,
And brightens the dull air with shining showers,
Ev'n there with you I could securely rest,
And dare all cold, but in my Damon's breast;
Or should you dwell beneath the sultry ray,
Where rising Phoebus ushers in the day,
There, there I dwell! Thou Sun, exert thy fires!
Love, mighty Love, a fiercer flame inspires:
Or if, a pilgrim, you would pay your vows
Where Jordan's streams in soft meanders flows;
I'll be a pilgrim, and my vows I'll pay
Where Jordan's streams in soft meanders play.
Joy of my soul! my every wish in one!
Why must I love, when loving I'm undone?
Sweet are the whispers of the waving trees,
And murmuring waters, curling to the breeze ;
Sweet are soft slumbers in the shady bowers
When glowing suns infest the sultry hours:
But not the whispers of the waving trees,
Nor murmuring waters, curling to the breeze,
Not sweet soft slumbers in the shady bowers,
When thou art absent whom my soul adores!*
Come, let us seek some flowery, fragrant bed!
Come, on thy bosom rest my love-sick head!
Come, drive thy flocks beneath the shady hills,
Or softly slumber by the murmuring rills!
Ah no! he flies! that dear enchanting he!
Whose beauty steals my very self from me!

Yet wert thou wont the garland to prepare,
To crown with fragrant wreaths thy Calia's hair:
When to the lyre she tun'd the vocal lays,
Thy tongue would flatter, and thine eyes speak praise:
And when smooth-gliding in the dance she mov'd,
Ask thy false bosom if it never lov'd?

And still her eye some little lustre bears, [tears! If swains speak truth!- though dim'd for thee with But fade each grace! since he no longer sees Those charms, for whom alone I wish to please!

But whence these sudden, sad presaging fears, These rising sighs, and whence these flowing tears? Ah! lest the trumpets terrible alarms

Have drawn the lover from his Cælia's charms,
To try the doubtful field, and shine in azure arms!
Ah! canst thou bear the labours of the war,
Bend the tough bow, or dart the pointed spear?
Desist, fond youth! let others glory gain,
Seek empty honour o'er the surgy main,

Or sheath'd in horrid arms rush dreadful to the plain!
Thee, shepherd, thee the pleasurable woods,
The painted meadows, and the crystal floods,
Claim and invite to bless their sweet abodes.
There shady bowers and sylvan scenes arise,
There fountains murmur, and the spring supplies
Flowers to delight the smell, or charm the eyes

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