The Attribute of VENUS. ES; Fulvia is like Venus fair; But fill, to perfect every grace, Then fmile, my fair; and all whofe aim Can fhe forgive my jealous pain, A while we fee the tempeft lower; 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 That shares the morning's ray, 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 The chief that knows of fuccours nigh, Not more, the school-boy that expires or meet a parent's laft embrace She She comes-but ah! what crowds of beaux Oh! better had'st thou fhun'd the green, 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, But though my path were damask'd o'er No fir-crown'd hills could give delight, 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. 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, 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: Echo alone preserves her voice, And each in fullen filence mourns SONG Ε SONG XVI. DAPHNE'S VISIT. YE birds! for whom I rear'd the grove, With melting lay falute my love: And thou, my grot! whofe lonely bounds 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 But when, difdaining art, the fair For though the flowers are ftill the fame, YES, SONG XIX. Imitated from the French. ES, these are the fcenes where with Iris I But short was her fway for fo lovely a maid! 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. 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. 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 thou art Damon's only theme; As yonder halcyon fkims the stream. O D E. O dear my Lucie is to me, 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 When Damon left his humble bowers, Would oft his fate bemoan; Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known. Soft murmuring, not a foe: Griev'd him to lurk the lakes befide, And moorcocks fun the day; 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 : Yet ftrive ye fhepherds, ftrive to find, May round their temples deign to wear. 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, The glories of his line; Methinks my cottage rears its head, As through enchantment, fhine. But who the nymph that guides their way? Could ever nymph defcend to stray From Hagley's fam'd retreat? Ah, now no more, the fhepherd cry'd, Her fubtle force difown, By low-brow'd rock, or pathlefs mead, 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, Had ftol'n through life unfeen, form'd by nature to disclose Nor yet have many moons decay'd, The nobleft breast, that virtue fires, Ah! never to return! In place of wit, and melting strains, Come then, my Lælius, come once more, While Philo, to whofe favour'd fight, Her inmoft wealth displays; The pcmp of ancient days, Here too fhall Conway's nam appear, That fhone the reeds among; From Conway s polish'd tongue. But what can courts difcover more, Have not thcfe trees and fountains feen And Grenville, fhe whofe radiant eyes. The princely piles of Stow; |