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For him the nymphs in green forsook the woods,
For him the nymphs in blue forsook the floods;
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,
They bore him heroes in the secret cave.
No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd,
No bending age his sprightly form decay'd,
No wars were known, no females heard to rage,
And, poets tell us, 'twas a golden age.

When woman came, those ills the box confin'd
Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind,
From point to point, from pole to pole they flew,
Spread as they went, and in the progress grew:
The nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And altering Nature wore a sickly face:
New terms of folly rose, new states of care;
New plagues, to suffer, and to please, the fair!
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finish'd with the breach of leagues;
The mean designs of well-dissembled love;
The sordid matches never join'd above:
Abroad the labour, and at home the noise,
(Man's double sufferings for domestic joys)
The curse of jealousy; expense and strife;
Divorce, the public brand of shameful life;
The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair;
Disdain for passion, passion in despair-
These, and a thousand yet unnam'd, we find;
Ah fear the thousand yet unnam'd behind!
Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung,
The mountain echoed, and the valley rung,
The sacred groves a fix'd attention show,
The crystal Helicon forebore to flow,

The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true)
The Muses came to give the laurel too.
But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit,
f Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ?
Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate
What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate,
Though when it happen'd no relation clears,
'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years.

Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade
The neighbouring woods a native arbour made,
There oft a tender pair, for amorous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away;
A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she:
But swelling nature in a fatal hour
Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower;
The dire disgrace her brothers count their own,
And track her steps, to make its author known.

It chanc'd one evening, 'twas the lover's day,
Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay;
When Hesiod, wandering, mus'd along the plain,
And fix'd his seat where love had fix'd the scene;
A strong suspicion straight possess their mind,
(For poets ever were a gentle kind)

But when Evanthe near the passage stood,
Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood,
"Now take" (at once they cry) "thy due reward,"
And, urg'd with erring rage, assault the bard.
His corpse the sea receiv'd. The dolphins bore
('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore.
Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes,
And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise;
I see the Muses round the body cry,
But here a Cupid loudly laughing by;
He wheels his arrow with insulting hand,
And thus inscribes the moral on the sand.
"Here Hesiod lies: ye future bards, beware
How far your moral tales incense the fair.

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THYRSIS, a young and amorous swain,
Saw two, the beauties of the plain,

Who both his heart subdue:
Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair,
Sabina's easy shape and air

With softer magic drew.

He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, Lives in a fond romance of love,

And seems for each to die; Till, each a little spiteful grown, Sabina Cælia's shape ran down,

And she Sabina's eye.

Their envy made the shepherd find
Those eyes which love could only blind;

So set the lover free:

No more he haunts the grove or stream, Or with a true-love knot and name

Engraves a wounded tree.

"Ah, Cælia!" sly Sabina cry'd, "Though neither love, we 're both deny'd; Now to support the sex's pride,

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Let either fix the dart."

"Poor girl," says Cælia," say no more; For should the swain but one adore, That spite, which broke his chains before, Would break the other's heart."

SONG.

LOVE AND INNOCENCE.

My days have been so wond'rous free,
The little birds, that fly
With careless ease from tree to tree,
Were but as bless'd as I.

Ask gliding waters, if a tear

Of mine increas'd their stream?
Or ask the flying gales, if e'er
I lent one sigh to them?

But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught,
The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fix'd upon my thought.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines!
Ye swains that haunt the grove!
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds!
Ye close retreats of love!

With all of nature, all of art,

Assist the dear design;

O teach a young, unpractis'd heart,
To make fair Nancy mine.

The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair;
Nor ever covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the passion in my mind
Is mix'd with soft distress;
Yet, while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.

Shot by the peacock's painted eye,
The vain and airy lovers die :
For careful dames and frugal men,
The shafts are speckled by the hen.
The pyes and parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the panting hearts;
When from the voice the passions spring,
The warbling finch affords a wing:
Together, by the sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledg'd by geese the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.

All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)

I learn'd in yonder waving grove,
"And see," says Love," who call'd me near,
How much I deal with Nature here;
How both support a proper part,

She gives the feather, I the dart:
Then cease for souls averse to sigh,
If Nature cross you, so do I;

My weapon there unfeather'd lies,
And shakes and shuffles through the skies.
But if the mutual charms I find

By which she links you mind to mind,

They wing my shafts, I poize the darts,

And strike from both, through both your hearts."

ANACREONTIC.

WHEN spring came on with fresh delight,
To cheer the soul, and charm the sight,
While easy breezes, softer rain,
And warmer suns, salute the plain;
'Twas then, in yonder piny grove,
That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath,
Where-e'er she trod, 'twas green beneath;
Where-e'er she turn'd, the pulses beat
With new recruits of genial heat;
And in her train the birds appear,
To match for all the coming year.
Rais'd on a bank where daisies grew,
And violets intermix'd a blue,
She finds the boy she went to find;
A thousand pleasures wait behind,
Aside, a thousand arrows lie,
But all unfeather'd, wait to fly.

When they met, the dame and boy,
Dancing Graces, idle joy,
Wanton smiles, and airy play
Conspir'd to make the scene be gay;
Love pair'd the birds through all the grove,
And Nature bid them sing to Love,
Sitting, hopping, fluttering, sing,
And pay their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the shafts that idly lie,
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly.

'Tis thus, when spring renews the blood,
They meet in every trembling wood,
And thrice they make the plumes agree,
And every dart they mount with three,
And every dart can boast a kind,
Which suits each proper turn of mind.
From the towering eagle's plume
The generous hearts accept their doom;

ANACREONTIC.

GAY Bacchus, liking Estcourt's' wine,

A noble meal bespoke us;
And for the guests that were to dine,

Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.

The god near Cupid drew his chair,
Near Comus, Jocus plac'd;

For wine makes love forget its care,
And mirth exalts a feast.

The more to please the sprightly god,
Each sweet engaging Grace

Put on some clothes to come abroad,
And took a waiter's place.

Then Cupid nam'd at every glass

A lady of the sky;

While Bacchus swore he 'd drink the lass, And had it bumper-high.

Fat Comus tost his brimmers o'er,

And always got the most;
Jocus took care to fill him more
Whene'er he miss'd the toast.

They call'd, and drank at every touch;
He fill'd and drank again;
And if the gods can take too much,
'Tis said, they did so then.

Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung,

By reckoning his deceits;

And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, With all his staggering gaits:

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,

And tales without a jest;

While Comus call'd his witty plays
But waggeries at best.

A celebrated comedian and tavern-keeper.

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IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

IN Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies danc'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

Though badly shap'd he'd been.

His mountain back mote well be said,
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above:
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Could ladies look within;
But one sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion pac'd along
All in the moony light;
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort
To revel out the night.
VOL. IX.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town;
With weary steps he quits the shades,
Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads,
And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,
And trembling rocks the ground:
And, well I ween to count aright,
At once a hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approached near,
And now the sounds increase:
And from the corner where he lay
He sees a train profusely gay,

Come prankling o'er the place.
But (trust me, gentles!) never yet
Was dight a masquing half so neat,
Or half so rich before;

The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant drest
In flaunting robes above the rest,
With awful accent cry'd;
What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here presum'd to hide?

At this the swain, whose venturous soul
No fears of magic art control,

Advanc'd in open sight; "Nor have I cause of dreed," he said, "Who view, by no presumption led, Your revels of the night.

""Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, Which made my steps unweeting rove Amid the nightly dew." ""Tis well," the gallant cries again, "We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true.

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He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light music floats in wanton air;

The monarch leads the queen:
The rest their fairy partners found:
And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the Green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made,
As heart and lip desire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.

But, now to please the fairy king,
Full every deal they laugh and sing,
And antic feats devise;

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Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape
In Edwin's wondering eyes.

Till one at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids by night,
Has bent him up aloof;

And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth he hung
To spraul unneath the roof.

From thence, "Reverse my charm," he cries, "And let it fairly now suffice

The gambol has been shown." But Oberon answers with a smile, "Content thee Edwin for a while,

The vantage is thine own."

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Here ended all the phantom-play;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;
The whirling wind that bore the crowd
Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers dye;

Poor Edwin falls to floor;
Forlorn his state, and dark the place,
Was never wight in such a case

Through all the land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,

He feels bis back the less;
His honest tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want success.

With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a dauncing as he walks,

His story soon took wind;

And beauteous Edith sees the youth
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Without a bunch behind.

The story told, sir Topaz mov'd,
The youth of Edith erst approv'd,
To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome
All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,
The wind came rustling down a dell,
A shaking seiz'd the wall;
Up spring the tapers as before,
The fairies brngly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the elphin show,

His spirits in him dye:
When Oberon cries, "A man is near,
A mortal passion, cleeped fear,

Hangs flagging in the sky."

With that sir Topaz, hapless youth!
In accents fault ring, ay for ruth,
Entreats them pitv graunt;
For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wandering in the night
To tread the circled haunt;

"Ah, losel vile," at once they roar : "And little skill'd of fairie lore,

Thy cause to come, we know:
Now has thy kestrel courage fell;
And fairies, since a lye you tell,

Are free to work thee woe,"
Then Will, who bears the whispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire,
The caitiff upward flung;
There, like a tortoise, in a shop
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where whilome Edwin hung.
The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor sir Topaz hangs the while
Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down y-drops the knight:
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade,
Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er:
But wot ye well his harder lot?
His seely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.
This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
She softly stroak'd my youngling head,
And when the tale was done,

"Thus some are born, my son," she cries, "With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none.

"But virtue can itself advance
To what the favourite fools of chance
By fortune seem design'd;
Virtue can gain the odds of Fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind."

THE

VIGIL OF VENUS.

WRITTEN IN THE TIME OF JULIUS CESAR,

AND BY SOME ASCRIBED TO CATULLUS.

LET those love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
The Spring, the new, the warbling Spring ap-
The youthful season of reviving years; [pears,
In Spring the Loves enkindle mutual heats,
The feather'd nation choo-e their tuneful mates,
The trees grow fruitful with descending rain,
And drest in differing greens adorn the plain.
She comes; to morrow Beauty's empress roves
Through walks that winding run within the groves;
Sha wines the shooting myrtle into bowers,
And ties their meeting tops with wreaths of
flowers,

Then rais'd sublimely on her easy throne,
From Nature's powerful dictates draws her own.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more. 'Twas on that day which saw the teeming flood Swell round, impregnate with celestial blood; Wandering in circles stood the fiuny crew, The midst was left a void expanse of blue, There parent ocean, work'd with heaving throes, And dropping wet the fair Dione rose.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

She paints the purple year with vary'd show, Tips the green gem, and makes the blossom glow. She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze, Expand to leaves, and shade the naked trees. When gathering damps the misty nights diffuse, She sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews; Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray, And, kept from falling, seem to fall away. A glossy freshness hence the rose receives, And blushes sweet through all her siken leaves (The drops descending through the silent night, While stars serenely roll their golden light): Close till the morn, her humid veil she holds; Then deckt with virgin pomp the flower unfolds. Soon will the morning blush: ye maids! prepare, In rosy garlands bind your flowing hair; 'Tis Venus' plant: the blood fair Venus shed, O'er the gay beauty pour'd immortal red; From Love's soft kiss a sweet ambrosial smell Was taught for ever on the leaves to dwell; From gems, from flames, from orient rays of light, The richest lustre makes her purple bright; And she to morrow weds; the sporting gale Unties her zone, she bursts the verdant veil; Through all her sweets the rifling lover flies, And as he breathes, her glowing fires arise.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more. Now fair Dione to the myrtle grove Sends the gay nymphs, and sends her tender love. And shall they venture? Is it safe to go, While nymphs have hearts, and Cupid wears a Yes, safely venture, 'tis his mother's will; [bow? He walks unarm'd, and undesigning ill, His torch extinct, his quiver useless hung, His arrows idle, and his bow unstrung. [charms; And yet, ye nymphs, beware; his eyes have And Love that's naked, still is Love in arms.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more. From Verus' bower to Delia's lodge repairs A virgin train complete with modest airs: "Chaste Delia, grant our suit! or-shun the wood, Nor stain this sacred lawn with savage blood. Venus, O Delia! if she could persuade, Would ask thy presence, might she ask a maid." Here cheerful quires for three auspicious nights With songs prolong the pleasurable rites: Here crouds in measure lightly-decent rove; Or seek by pairs the covert of the grove, Where meeting greens for arbours arch above, And mingling flowrets strow the scenes of love. Here dancing Ceres shakes her golden sheaves; Here Bacchus revels, deck'd with viny leaves: Here wit's enchanting god, in laurel crown'd, Wakes all the ravish'd Hours with silver sound. Ye fields, ye forests, own Dione's reign, And Delia, huntress Delia, shun the plain.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Gay with the bloom of all her opening year,
The queen at Hybla bids her throne appear;
And there presides; and there the favourite band
(Her smiling Graces) share the great command.
Now, beauteous Hybla! dress thy flowery beds
With at the pride the lavish season sheds;
Now all thy colours, all thy fragrance yield,
And rival Enna's aromatic field.

To fill the presence of the gentle court,
From every quarter rural nymphs resort, [viles,
From woods, from mountains, from their humble
From waters curling with the wanton gales.
Pleas'd with the joyful train, the laughing queen
In circles seats them round the bank of green;
And, "Lovely girls," she whispers, "guard your

nearts:

My boy, though stript of arms, abounds in arts."
Let those love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Let tender grass in shaded alleys spread,
Let early flowers erect their painted head,
To morrow's glory be to morrow seen,
That day, old Ether wedded Earth in green,
The vernal father bid the Spring appear,
In clouds he coupled to produce the year,
The sap descending o'er her bosom ran,
And all the various sorts of soul began.
By wheels unknown to sight, by secret veins
Distilling life, the fruitful goddess reigns,
Through all the lovely realms of native day,
Through all the circled land and circling sea;
With fertile seed she fill'd the pervious earth,
And ever fix'd the mystic ways of birth.

Let those love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
'Twas she the parent, to the Latian shore
Through various dangers Troy's remainder bore.
She won Lavinia for her warlike son,
And, winning her, the Latian empire won.
She gave to Mars the maid, whose honour'd womb
Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
Decoy'd by shows, the Sabine dames she led,
And taught our vigorous youth the way to wed.
Hence sprung the Romans, hence the race divine
Through which great Cæsar draws his Julian line.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

In rural seats the soul of pleasure reigns; The life of Beauty fills the rural scenes; Ev'n Love (if Fame the truth of Love declare) Drew first the breathings of a rural air. Some pleasing meadow pregnant Beauty prest, She laid her infant on its flowery breast, From Nature's sweets he sipp'd the fragrant dew, He smil'd, he kiss'd them, and by kissing grew. Let those love now, who never lov'd before; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Now bulls o'er stalks of broom extend their sides,

Secure of favours from their lowing brides.
Now stately rams their fleecy consorts lead,
Who bleating follow through the wandering shade.
And now the goddess bids the birds appear,
Raise all their music, and salute the year:
Then deep the swan begins, and deep the song
Runs o'er the water where he sails along :
While Philomela turns a treble strain,
And from the poplar charms the listening plain.
We fancy love exprest at every note,
It melts, it warbles, in her liquid throat.

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