But now-her fatal lofs we mourn,
Never, oh! never to return
To these deserted plains;
Undone, abandon'd to despair,
Alas! 'tis winter all the year
To us unhappy fwains.
Ye little Loves, lament around;
With empty quivers ftrew the ground,
Your bows unbent lay down;
Harmless your wounds, pointless your darts,
And frail your empire o'er our hearts,
Till she your triumphs crown.
Ye Nymphs, ye Fawns, complaining figh;
Ye Graces, let your treffes fly,
The sport of every wind:
Ye mimic Echoes tell the woods,
Repeat it to the murmuring floods,
She's gone! fhe's gone! unkind!
Break, fhepherds, break each tunelefs reed,
Let all your flocks at random feed,
Each flowery garland tear;
Since Wit and Beauty quit the plain,
Past pleasures but enhance our pain,
And life 's not worth our care.
TO PHYLLIS.
T HOUGH clofe immur'd, poor captive maid!
Young Danaë play'd a wanton's part;
The gold that in her lap was laid,
Soon found a paffage to her heart.
Ambitious Semele, beguil'd
By Juno's unrelenting hate,
Amid the bright deftruction fiil'd,
Enjoy'd her God, and dy'd in ftate.
The fwan on Leda's whiter breast,
Artful deceiver! nestling lay,
With joy the clafp'd her downy gueft,
Fond of a bird fo foft and gay.
What boon can faithful merit fhare,
Where intereft reigns, or pride, or show?
'Tis the rich banker wins the fair,
The garter'd knight, or feather'd beau.
No more my panting heart fhall beat,
Nor Phyllis claim one parting groan;
Her tears, her vows, are all a cheat,
For woman loves herfelf alone.
Halifax a name for ever dear
To Phoebus, and which all the Nine revere;
Accept this humble pledge of my esteem,
So justly thine, benevolence my theme.
In myftic tales, and parables, of old
Grave Eastern Seers inftructive lessons told;
Wife Greece from them receiv'd the happy plan,
And taught the brute to pedagogue the man.
The matron Truth appears with better grace,
When well-wrought fables veil her reverend face;
Dry precept may inftruct, but can't delight,
While pleafing fictions all our powers excite.
Our bufy minds each faculty employ,
And range around, and start their game with joy;
Pleas'd with the chace, make the rich
prey
And glory in the conquefts they have won.
Fable alone can crown the poet's brow,
Upon his works immortal charms bestow:
And 'twere a fin that method to difprove,
Which Heaven has fix'd by fanctions from above.
My humble Muse in calm retirement roves
Near moffy fountains, and near fhady groves:
Yet there, ev'n there, her loyal hands would raise
Some rural trophy to her monarch's praise;
Inftruct those fountains and thofe groves to fhow,
What copious bleffings from his bounty flow;
While flowers and shrubs bless his propitious aid,
His urn refreshing, or protecting fhade.
Great friend of human kind! thy pious hand
Nor wounds to kill, nor conquers to command.
Let haughty tyrants of false glory dream,
Without remorfe pursue the bloody scheme;
To fame forbidden tread the lawless way,
And o'er the ravag'd world extend their sway:
'Tis thine, great George, to guard thy favourite isle
From open force, and every fecret wile,
To raife th' opprefs'd, to make the captives smile;
To pay juft heaven what righteous monarchs owe,
And, like that heaven, to bless the world below:
To build new temples, to repair the old,
To bring the ftraggling fheep into the fold,
And by wife laws reftore an age of gold.
Ye blissful feats where Tame and Isis join,
Lovely retirement of the facred Nine,
Parent of arts, and once my fweet abode,
Can ye forget the bleffings he bestow'd?
Can fophiftry prevail against that prince,
Whofe mercy and beneficence convince ?
Oh touch each tuneful string, let every
From all her ftores her nobleft Pæans chufe;
Pay what the can in tributary lays,
And to his virtue grant fupplies of praise.
To all the world your grateful hearts make known,
And in your monarch's fame record your own.
His fame-which Envy's breath can never blast,
But ages yet to come fhall join the past,
And Brunswick's glory with the world shall laft.
A SONG
ENTLY, my lute, move every string,
Soft as my fighs, reveal my pain;
While I, in plaintive numbers, fing
Of flighted vows, and cold difdain.
In vain her airs, in vain her art,
In vain fhe frowns when I appear;
Thy notes fhall melt her frozen heart;
She cannot hate, if fhe can hear.
And fee the fmiles! through all the groves
Triumphant Iö-Pæans found:
Clap all your wings, ye little Loves;
Ye sportive Graces, dance around.
Ye listening oaks, bend to my fong;
Not Orpheus play'd a nobler lay:
Ye favages, about me throng;
Ye rocks, and harder hearts, obey.
She comes, fhe comes, relenting fair!
To fill with joy my longing arms;
What faithful lover can despair,
Who thus with verfe, and musick, charms?
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