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It chanc'd one evening, 't was the lover's day,
Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay;
When Hefiod, wandering, mus'd along the plain,
And fix'd his feat where love had fix'd the scene ;
A strong suspicion strait 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 hear a Cupid loudly laughing by;
He wheels his arrow with insulting hand,
And thus inscribes the moral on the sand.
" Here Hefiod lies : ye future Bards, beware
“ How far your moral tales incense the Fair.
“ Unlov’d, unloving, ’t was his fate to bleed;
" Without his quiver, Cupid caus’d the deed :
“ He judg'd this turn of malice justly due,
" And Hesiod dy'd for joys he never knew."
WHEN thy beauty appears
In its graces and airs,
All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;
At distance I gaze, and am awd by my fears,
So strangely you dazzle my eye!
But when without art,
Your kind thought you impart,
love runs in blushes through every vein;
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants
in your heart,
Then I know you're a woman again.
There's a passion and pride
In our sex, she reply'd,
And thus, might I gratify both, I would do :
Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
But still be a woman to you.
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 fpiteful 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, Cälia! fly Sabina cry'd,
Though neither love, we're both denyd;
Now to support the fex's pride,
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,
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 fwains that haunt the grove!
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds!
Ye close retreats of love!
With all of nature, all of art,
Allist the dear design ;
O teach a young, unpractis'd heart,
To make my 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 with it less.
ANACREONTIC. WHEN spring came on with fresh delight,
To cheer the soul, and charm the fight, While easy breezes, softer rain, And warmer suns, falute the plain ;
'T was 'then, in yonder piny grove,
That Nature went to meet with Love.
Green was her robe, and green her wreathie
Where-e'er the trod, 't was green beneath;
Where-e'er the tarn'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 grote,
And Nature bid them sing to Love,
Sitting, hopping, fluttering, fing,
their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the fhafts 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.