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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,

Such talk soon set them all at odds;

And had I Homer's pen, I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, And how they fought like men.

To part the fray, the Graces fly,

Who make them soon agree: Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, They still were three to three. Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up, And gave him back his bow; But kept some darts to stir the cup, Where sack and sugar flow.

Jocus took Comus' rosy crown,

And gayly wore the prize,

And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,
As thrice he strove to rise.

Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline;

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And Venus close embracing Love, They join'd to rail at wine.

And Comus loudly cursing wit,
Roll'd off to some retreat;
Where boon companions gravely sit
In fat unwieldy state.

Bacchus and Jocus still behind,

For one fresh glass prepare; They kiss, and are exceeding kind, And vow to be sincere.

But part in time, whoever hear

This our instructive song;

For though such friendships may be dear, They cart continue long.

A FAIRY TALE,

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.

"Exalt thy love-dejected heart,
Be mine the task, or ere we part,
To make thee grief resign;
Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner, daunce,
Be little Mable thine."

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;

A a

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."

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 his 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 bis 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 brasly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the e!rhin show,

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

Hangs flagg n in the sky."

With that sir Topaz, hapless youth!
In accents faultering, ay for ruth,
Entreats them pity graunt;
For als he been a mister wight
Betrav'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 CAESAR,

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 choose 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;
She twines 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 finny 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 nowo, 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 silken 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 inmortal 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 Venus' 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 all 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, [vales,
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
hearts:

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,

Of barbarous Tereus she complains no more,
But sings for pleasure, as for grief before.
And still her graces rise, her airs extend,
And all is silence till the syren end.

How long in coming is my lovely Spring!
And when shall 1, and when the swallow sing;
Sweet Philomela, cease:-Or here I sit,
And silent lose my rapturous hour of wit:
'Tis gone, the fit retires, the flames decay,
My tuneful Phoebus flies averse away.
His own Amycle thus, as stories run,
But once was silent, and that once undone.
Let those loze now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

HOMER'S BATRACHOMUOMACHIA:

OR, THE

BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

Names of the Frogs.

Physignathus, one who swells his cheeks.
Pelus, a name for mud.

Hydromeduse, a ruler in the waters.
Hypsiboas, a loud bawler.

Pelion, from mud.

Scutlæus, called from the bees.
Polyphonus, a great babler.

Lymnocharis, one who loves the lake.

Crambophagus, a cabbage-eater.
Lymnisius, called from the lake.
Calaminthias, from the herb.
Hydrocaris, who loves the water.
Borborocates, who lies in the mud.
Prassophagus, an cater of garlic.
Pelusius, from mud.

Pelobates, who walks in the dirt.
Pressæus, called from garlic.
Craugasides, from croaking.

Names of the Mice.

Psycarpax, one who plunders granaries.
Troxartas, a bread-eater.

Lychomile, a licker of meal.

Pternotractas, a bacon-eater.
Lychopynax, a licker of dishes.
Embasichytros, a creeper into pots.
Iychenor, a name for licking.
Troglodytes, one who runs into holes.
Artophagus, who feeds on bread.

Tyroglyphus, a cheese-scooper.

Pternoglyphus, a bacon-scooper.

Pternophagus, a bacon-eater.

kitchens.

The dreadful toils of raging Mars I write,
The springs of contest, and the fields of fight;
How threatening mice advanc'd with wa.like grace,
And wag'd dire combats with the croaking race.
Not louder tumults shook Olympus' towers,
When earth-born giants dar'd immortal powers.
These equal acts an equal glory claim,
And thus the Muse records the tale of Fame.

Once on a time, fatigued and out of breath,
And just escap'd the stretching claws of Death,
A gentle mouse, whom cats pursued in vain,
Fled swift of foot across the neighbouring plain,
Hung o'er a brink, his eager thirst to cool,
And dipp'd his whiskers in the standing pool;
When near a courteous frog advanc'd his head,
And from the waters, hoarse-resounding, said,

"What art thou, stranger? what the line you
boast?

What chance has cast thee panting on our coast?
With strictest truth let all thy words agree,
Nor let me find a faithless mouse in thee.
If worthy, friendship, proffer'd friendship take,
And entering view the pleasurable lake;
Range o'er my palace, in my bounty share,
And glad return from hospitable fare:
This silver realm extends beneath my sway,
And me, their monarch, all its frogs obey.
Great Physignathus I, from Peleus' race,
Begot in fair Hydromede's embrace,

Where, by the nuptial bank that paints his side,
The swift Eridanus delights to glide.

Thee too, thy form, thy strength, and port, pro

claim

A scepter'd king; a son of martial fame;

Then trace thy line, and aid my guessing eyes.”
Thus ceas'd the frog, and thus the mouse replies.
"Known to the gods, the men, the birds that fly
Through wild expanses of the midway sky,
My name resounds; and if unknown to thee,
The soul of great Psycarpax lives in me.
Of brave Troxartas' line, whose sleeky down
In love compress'd Lychomile the brown.
My mother she, and princess of the plains
Where-e'er her father Pternotractas reigns.
Born where a cabin lifts its airy shed,
With figs, with nuts, with vary'd dainties fed.
But, since our natures nought in common know,
From what foundation can a friendship grow?
These curling waters o'er thy palace roll:
But man's high food supports my princely soul:
In vain the circled loaves attempt to lie
Conceal'd in flaskets from my curious eye.
In vain the tripe that boasts the whitest hue,
In vain the gilded bacon shuns my view,
In vain the cheeses, offspring of the pail,

Or honey'd cakes, which gods themselves regale;
And as in arts I shine, in arms I fight,
Mix'd with the brave t, and unknown to flight,

Cnissodioctes, one who follows the steam of Though large to mine the human form appear,

Sitophagus, an eater of wheat.
Meridarpax, one who plunders his share.

BOOK I.

To fill my rising song with sacred fire,
Ye tuneful Nire, y sweet celestial quire!
From Helicon's embowering height repair,
Attend my labours, and reward my prayer;

Not man himself can smite my soul with fear,
Sly to the bed with silent steps I go,
Attempt his finger, or attack his toe,

And six indented wounds with dextrous skill,
Sleeping he feels, and only seems to feel.
Yet have we foes which direful dangers cause,
Grim owls with talons arm'd, and cats with claws,
And that false trap, the den of silent Fate,
Where Death his ambush plants around the bait:
All dreaded these, and dreadful o'er the rest
The potent warriors of the tabby vest,

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