I'd fhun her paths, upon thy mouth to dwell,
More fweet than powder which the merchants fell.
O folace me with kiffes pure like thine!
Enjoy, ye lords, the wanton concubine.
The fpring now calls us forth; come, fister, come,
To fee the primrose and the daisy bloom.
Let ceremony bind the worldly pair;
Sifters efteem the brethren's words fincere,
Efpoufals are but forms. O lead me hence,
For fecret love can never give offence.
Then hand in hand the loving mates withdraw.
True love is nature unreftrain'd by law.
This tenet all the holy fect allows;
So Tabitha took earnest of a spouse.
ONG had Panthea felt Love's fecret fmart,
And hope and fear alternate rul'd her heart;
Confenting glances had her flame confeft:
In woman's eyes her very foul's expreft.
Perjur'd Alexis faw the blufhing maid,
He faw, he fwore, he conquer'd, and betray'd.'-
Another love now calls him from her arms,
His fickle heart another beauty warms;
Those oaths, oft' whisper'd in Panthea's ears,,
He now again to Galatea fwears.
Beneath a beech th' abandon'd virgin laid,
In grateful folitude enjoys the fhade;
There with faint voice the breath'd these moving ftrains,
While fighing Zephyrs fhar'd her amorous pains..
Pale fettled forrow hangs upon my brow,
Dead are my charms; Alexis breaks his vow!'
Think, think, dear fhepherd, on the days you knew,«
When I was happy, when my fwain was true;
Think how thy looks and tongue are form'd to move;
And think yet more-that all my fault was love..
Ah, could you view me in this wretched state,
You might not love me, but you could not hate.
Could you behold me in this conscious shade,
Where first thy vows, where first my love was paid,
Worn-out with watching, fullen with despair,
And fee each eye fwell with a gufhing tear?
Could you behold me on this moffy bed,
From my pale cheek the lively crimson fled,
Which in my fofter hours you oft' have fworn,
With rofy beauty far outblush'd the morn ?
Could you untouch'd this wretched object bear,
And would not loft Panthea claim a tear?
You could not, fure-tears from your eyes would steal,
And unawares thy tender foul reveal.
Ah, no! thy foul with cruelty is fraught,
No tenderness disturbs thy favage thought;
Sooner fhall tigers fpare the trembling lambs,
And wolves with pity hear their bleating dams;
Sooner shalk vultures from their quarry Aly;
Than falfe Alexis for Panthea figh.
Thy bofom ne'er a tender thought confeft,
Sure ftubborn flint has arm'd thy cruel breast;
But hardest flints are worn by frequent rains,
And the foft drops diffolve their folid veins ;
While thy relentlefs heart more hard appears,
And is not foften'd by a flood of tears.
Ah, what is love! Panthea's joys are gone,
Her liberty, her peace, her reafon, flown!
And when I view me in the watery glass,
I find Panthea now, not what he was.
As northern winds the new-blown roses blaft
And on the ground their fading ruins caft;
As fudden blights corrupt the ripen'd grain,
And of its verdure fpoil the mournful plain;
So hapless love on blooming features preys,
So hapless love destroys our peaceful days.
Come, gentle fleep, relieve thefe weary'd eyes,
All forrow in thy foft embraces dies :
There, 'fpite of all thy perjur'd vows, I find
Faithlefs Alexis languifhingly kind;
Sometimes he leads me by the mazy stream,
And pleasingly deludes me in my dream;
Sometimes he guides me to the fecret grove,
Where all our looks, and all our talk is love..
Oh, could I thus confume each tedious day,
And in fweet flumbers dream my life away!
But fleep, which now no more relieves these eyes,,
To my fad foul the dear deceit denies.
Why does the fun dart forth its chearful rays? Why do the woods refound with warbling lays Why does the rofe her grateful fragrance yield, And yellow cowflips paint the fmiling field? Why do the ftreams with murmuring mufick flow, And why do groves their friendly fhade bestow? Let fable clouds the chearful fun deface, Let mournful filence feize the feather'd race; No more, ye rofes, grateful fragrance yield, Droop, droop, ye cowflips, in the blafted field; No more, ye ftreams, with murmuring mufick flow, And let not groves a friendly fhade bestow:
With fympathizing grief let nature mourn,
And never know the youthful spring's return.
And shall I never more Alexis fee?
Then what is fpring, or grove, or ftream, to me?
Why fport the fkipping lambs on yonder plain ?
Why do the birds their tuneful voices ftrain?
Why frifk thofe heifers in the cooling grove?
Their happier life is ignorant of love.
Oh! lead me to fome melancholy cave,
To lull my forrows in a living grave;
From the dark rock where dafhing waters fall,.
And creeping ivy hangs the craggy wall;
Where I may waste in tears my hours away,
And never know the feafons or the day!
Die, die, Panthea-fly this hateful grove;:
For what is life without the fwain I love?
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