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The Attribute of VENUS.

ES; Fulvia is like Venus fair;
Has all her bloom, and shape and air:

But fill, to perfect every grace,
She wants the smile upon her face.
The crown majestic Juno wore;
And Cynthia's brow the crefcent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But fmiles diftinguish'd beauty's queen.
Her train was form'd of fmiles and loves,
Her chariot drawn by gen left doves!
And from her zone, the nymph may find,
'Tis beauty's province to be kind.

Then fmile, my fair; and all whofe aim
Afpires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living ftone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.

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Can fhe forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?
Love is an April's doubtful day;

A while we fee the tempeft lower;
Anon the radient heaven furvey,

And quite forget the flitting fhower. The flowers, that hung their languid head, Are burnish'd by the tranfient rains; The vines their wonted tendrils spread, And double verdure gilds the plains. The fprightly birds, that droop'd no lefs Beneath the power of rain and wind, lo every raptur'd note, express The joy I feel when thou art kind.

SONG VIII. 1742.

W

HEN bright Roxana treads the green, In all the pride of drefs and mien; Averfe to freedom, love, and play, The dazzling rival of the day: None other beauty ftrikes mine eye, The lilies droop, the roses die. But when, disclaiming art, the fair Affumes a foft engaging air; Mild as the opening morn of May, Familiar, friendly, free, and gay; The fcene improves, where'er fhe goes, More fweetly fmile the pink and rofe O lovely maid! propitious hear, Nor deem thy faepherd infincere; Pity a wild illufive flame, That varies objects still the fame; And let their very changes prove The never-vary'd force of love.

SONG IX. 1743

VALENTINE'S DAY.

IS faid that under distant skies,

'T'Nor you the fact deny;

What first attracts an Indian's eyes
Becomes his deity.
Perhaps a lily, or a rofe,

That shares the morning's ray,
May to the waking fwain disclofe

The regent of the day.

Perhaps a plant in yonder grove,

Enrich'd with fragrant power, May tempt his vagrant eyes to rove, Where blooms the fovereign flower. Perch'd on the cedar's topmaft bough, And gay with gilded wings, Perchance, the patron of his vow, Some artless linnet, fings.

The fwain furveys her pleas'd, afraid, Then low to earth he bends; And owns, upon her friendly aid,

His health, his life, depends:

Vain futile idols, bird or flower;

To tempt a votary's prayer! How would his humble homage tower, Should he behold my fair! Yes-might the pagan's waking eyes, O'er Flavia's beauty range, He there would fix his lafting choice, Nor dare, nor wish to chnagę.

T

SONG X. 1743

HE fatal hours are wonderous near,

That, from these fountains, bear my dear,

A little fpace is given; in vain:

She robs my fight, and fhuns the plain.

A little space, for me to prove
My boundless flame, my endless love;
And, like the train of vulgar hours,
Invidious time that space devours.
Near yonder beech is Delia's way,
On that I gaze the livelong day;
No eastern monarch's dazzling pride
Shall draw my longing eyes afide.

The chief that knows of fuccours nigh,
And fees his mangled legions die,
Cafts not a more impatieut glance,
To fee the loitering aids advance.

Not more, the school-boy that expires
Far from his native home, requires
To fee fome friend's familiar face,

or meet a parent's laft embrace

She

She comes-but ah! what crowds of beaux
In radiant bands my fair enclose!

Oh! better had'st thou fhun'd the green,
Oh, Delia better far unfeen.
Methinks, by all my tender fears,
By all my fighs, by all my tears,
I might from torture now be free-
'Tis more than death to part with thee!

P

SONG XI. 1744

ERHAPS it is not love, faid I,

1 hat meits my foul when Flavia's nigh; Where wit and fenfe like her's agree, One may be pleas'd, and yet be free. The beauties of her polish'd mind, It needs no lover's eye to find; The hermit freezing in his cell, Might with the gentle Flavia well. It is not love-averfe to bear The fervile chain that lovers wear; Let, let me all my fears remove, My doubts difpel-it is not loveOh! when did wit fo brightly fhine In any form lefs fair than thine? It is it is love's fubtle fire, And under friendship lurks defire.

SONG XII. 1744.

'ER defert plains, and rufhy meers,
And wither'd heaths, I rove;
Where tree, nor fpire, nor cot appears,
I pass to meet my love.

But though my path were damask'd o'er
With beauties e'er fo fine;
My bufy thoughts would fly before
To fix alone on thine.

No fir-crown'd hills could give delight,
No palace please mine eye:

No pyramids aerial height,

Where mouldering monarchs lie. Unmov'd, fhould Eastern kings advance; Could I the pageant fee:

Splendour might catch one fcornful glance, "Not steal one thought from thee.

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But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,

I should with, unawares, that my Delia might hear.

With fairest ideas my bofom I ftor'd,
Allafive to none but the nymph I ador'd !
And the more I with study my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impreffion fhe made on my mind.
So long as of nature the charms I pursue,
I ftill muft my Delia's dear image renew:
The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the Muses are all in alliance with Love.

SONG XIV. The ROSE-BUD.

1

EE, Daphne, fee, Florelio cry'd,

SE

And learn the fad effects of pride; Yon fhelter'd rofe, how fafe conceal'd! How quickly blasted, when reveal'd! The fun with warm attractive rays Tempts it to wanton in the blaze: A gale fucceeds from Eastern skies, And all its blushing radiance dies. So you, my fair, of charms divine, Will quit the plains, too fond to fhine Where fame's tranfporting rays allure, Though 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 eattern wind. The nymph reply'd—you first, my swain, Confine your fonnets to the plain; One envious tongue alike difarms, You, of your wit, me, of my charms. What is, unknown, the poet's skill? Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill? What, unadmir'd, a charming mien, Or what the rofe's blufh, unfeen?

SONG XV. WINTER. 1746.

Ν

N°

O more, ye warbling birds, rejoice:
Of all that chear'd the plain,

Echo alone preserves her voice,
And fhe-repeats my pain.
Where'er my love-fick limbs I lay,
To fhun the rushing wind,
Its bufy murmurs feem to say,
"She never will be kind!"
The Naiads, o'er their frozen urns,
In icy chains repine;

And each in fullen filence mourns
Her freedom loft, like mine!
Soon will the fun's returning rays
The chearless froft controu];
When will relenting Delia chafe
The winter of my foul?

SONG

Ε

SONG XVI.

DAPHNE'S VISIT.

YE 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 flowers! 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 flower,
And fhed its odours round my bower:
Or never more, O gentle wind,
Shail I, from thee, refreshment find.
Ye streams! 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 défpair.

And thou, my grot! whofe lonely bounds
The melancholy pine furrounds,
May 1 aphne praise thy peaceful gloom!
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.

SONG XVII.

Written in a collection of Bacchanalian Songs.

A

DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join

To plunge old care in floods of wine; And, as your dazzling eye-bails roll, Difcern him ftruggling in the bowl, Not yet is hope fo wholly flown, Not yet is thought fo tedious grown, But limpid ftream and fhady tree Retain, as yet, fome fweets for me. And fee through yonder filent grove, See yonder does my Daphne rove; With pride her footsteps I pursue, And bid your frantic joys adieu. The fole confufion I admire, Is that my Daphne's eyes infpire: 1 fcorn the madnefs I aprove, And value reafon next to love

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But when, difdaining art, the fair
Affumes a foft, engaging air;
Mild as the opening morn of May,
And as the feather'd warblers gay:
The scene improves where'er fhe goes,
More sweetly smiles the pink and rose.
O lovely maid! propitious hear,
Nor think thy Damon infincere.
Pity my wild delufive flame:

For though the flowers are ftill the fame,
To me thy languish, or improve,
And plainly tell me that I love.

YES,

SONG XIX.

Imitated from the French.

ES, these 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 cloyfter the 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, thefe 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 1 love!

Be ftill though, my heart! thine emotion give o'er;

Remember, the season of love is no more.

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But now, fince old Eugenio dy'd The chief of poets, and the prideNow, meaner bards in vain aspire To raise their voice, to tune their lyre! Their lovely feason, now, is o'er! Thy notes, Florelio, please no moit! No more Afteria's fmiles are seen!Adieu!-the fweets of Barel s-green!

The HALCYON.

HY o'er the verdant banks of Ooze

W Does yonder halcyon speed so faft?

'Tis all becaufe fhe would not lofe

Her favourite calm that will not laft.

The fun with azure paints the fkies,

The ftream reflects each flowery spray : And frugal of her time fhe flies

To take her fill of love and play.
See her, when rugged Boreas blows,
Warm in fome rocky cell remain ;
To feek for pleafure, well he knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.
Defcend, fhe cries. thou hated shower,
Deform my limpid waves to-day,

For I have chofe a fairer hour

o take my fill of love and play. You too, my Silvia, fure will own

Life's azure seasons swiftly roll:
And when our youth our health is flown,
To think of love but fhocks the foul.
Could Damon but deferve thy charms,

And thou art Damon's only theme;
He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms,

As yonder halcyon fkims the stream.

O D E.

O dear my Lucie is to me,

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So well our minds and tempers blend; That feafons may for ever flee,

And ne'er divide me from my friend; But let the favour'd boy forbear To tempt with love my only fair. O Lycon, born when every Mufe, When every Grace benignarat fmil'd, With ali a parent's breaft could chufe

To blef her lov'd, her only child: "Tis thine fo richly grac'd to prove More noble cares, than cares of love. Together ve from early youth

Have trol the flowery tracks of time, Together mu'd in fearch of truth,

O'er learnet fage, or bard fublime; And well thy ltur'd breast I know, What wonderoutreafure it can fhow.

Come then, resume thy chaming lyre,

And fing fome patriot's worth fublime, Whilft I in fields of foft defire

Confume my fair and fruitless prime; Whofe reed afpires but to display The flame that burns me night and day. O come! the dryads of the woods Shall daily foothe thy ftudious mind, The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods

hall meet and court thee to be kind; And Fame fits listening for thy lays To fwell her trump with Lucio's praife. Like me, the plover fondly tries

To lure the fporfinen from her neft, And fluttering on with anxious cries, Too plainly fhows her tortur'd breast: O let him, confcious of her care, Pity her pains, and learn to spare.

A PASTORAL ODE,

To the Right Hon. Sir Richard Lyttleton.

T

HE morn difpens'd a dubious light
A fullen mist had ftol'n from fight'
Each pleafing vale and hill;

When Damon left his humble bowers,
To guard his flocks, to fence his flowers,
Or check his wandering rill.
Though school'd from fortune's paths to fly,
The fwain beneath cach lowering sky,

Would oft his fate bemoan;
That he in fylvan fhades, forlorn!
Muft wafte his chear lefs ev'n and morn.

Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known.
No friend to fame's obftreperous noife,
Yet to the whispers of her voice,

Soft murmuring, not a foe:
The pleasures he through choice declin'd,
When gloomy fogs deprefs'd his mind,
It griev'd him to forego.

Griev'd him to lurk the lakes befide,
Where coots in ruthy dingles hide,

And moorcocks fun the day;
While caitiff bitterns, undifmay'd,
Remark the fwain's familiar fhade,
And scorn to quit their prey.
But fee, the radiant fun once more
The brightning face of heaven restore,
And raife the doubtful dawn;
And, more to gild his rural sphere,
At once the brightest train appear,
That ever trod the lawn.

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That

* The Duchefs, married to Sir R. Lyttleton.

That fhe, on all whofe motions wait Diftinction, title, rank, and state, Should rove where fhepherds dwell. But true it is, the generous mind, By candour fway'd, by tafte refin'd, Will nought but vice difdain; Nor will the breaft where fancy glows Deem every flower a weed that blows Amid the defert plain.

Befeems it fuch, with honour crown'd, To deal its lucid beams around,

Nor equal meed receive :
At molt fuch garlands from the field,
Aa cowflips, pinks, and panfies yield,
And rural hands can weave.

Yet ftrive ye fhepherds, ftrive to find,
And weave the fairest of the kind,
The prime of all the spring;
If haply thus yon lovely fair

May round their temples deign to wear.
The trivial wreaths you bring.
O how the peaceful halcyons play'd
Where'er the confcious lake betray'd.
Athenia's placid mien;

How did the fprightlier linnets throng, Where Paphia's charms requir'd the song, 'Mid hazel copfes green :

Lo, Dartmouth on those ban ks reclin'd,
While bufy fancy calls to mind

The glories of his line;

Methinks my cottage rears its head,
The ruin'd walls of yonder fhed,

As through enchantment, fhine.

But who the nymph that guides their way? Could ever nymph defcend to stray

From Hagley's fam'd retreat?
Elfe, by the blooming features fair
The faultless make, the matchless air,
'Twerc.Cynthia's form compleat.
So would fome tuberofe delight,
That ftruck the pilgrim's wandering fight,
'Mid lonely delerts drear ;
All as at eve, the fovereign flower
Difpenfes round its balmy power,
And crowns the fragrant year."

Ah, now no more, the fhepherd cry'd,
Must I ambition's charms deride,

Her fubtle force difown,
No more of fawns or fairies dream,
While fancy, near each crystal stream,
Shall paint thefe forms alone.

By low-brow'd rock, or pathlefs mead,
I deem'd that fplendour ne'er fhou d lead
My dazzled eyes aftray;
But who alas will dare contend,
If beauty add, or merit blend

Its more illuftrious ray?

1

Nor is it long-O plaintive swain ! Since Guerniey faw without difdain, Where, hid in woodlands green,

The partner of his early days,
And once the rival of his praise

Had ftol'n through life unfeen,
Scarce faded is the vernal flower,
Since Stamford left his honour'd bower
To fmile familiar here:

form'd by nature to disclose
How fair that courtefey which flows
From focial warmth fincere.

Nor yet have many moons decay'd,
Since Pollio fought this lonely shade,
Admir'd this rural maze:

The nobleft breast, that virtue fires,
The Graces love, the Muse inspires,
Might pant for Pollio's praife.
Say Thomson here was known to reft,
For him yon vernal feat I dreft,

Ah! never to return!

In place of wit, and melting strains,
And focial mirth, it now remains
To weep befide his urn.

Come then, my Lælius, come once more,
And fringe the melancholy fhore
With roses and with bays,
While I each wayward fate accuse,
'That envy'd his impartial Muse
To fing your early praife.

While Philo, to whofe favour'd fight,
Antiquity, with full delight,

Her inmoft wealth displays;
Beneath yon ruins moulder'd wall-
Shall muse, and with his freind recal

The pcmp of ancient days,

Here too fhall Conway's nam appear,
He prais'd the ftream fo lovely clear,

That fhone the reeds among;
Yet clearness could it not disclose,
To match the rhetoric that flows

From Conway s polish'd tongue.
Ev'n Pitt, whofe fervent periods roll
Refiftiefs! through the kindling foul
Of fenates. councils, kings!
Though form'd for courts, vouchfaf d to rove
Inglorious, through the flepherd's grove,
And ope his baful iprigs.

But what can courts difcover more,
Than thefe rude haunts have seen before,
Each fount and shady tree?

Have not thcfe trees and fountains feen
he pride of courts, the winning mien
O peerlefs Aylesbury?

And Grenville, fhe whofe radiant eyes.
Have mark d by flow gradation rife

The princely piles of Stow;
Yet prais'd thefe unembellish'd woods,
And fmil'd to fee the babbling floods
Through felf-worn mazes flow.

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