IV.

Vain man! that in a narrow space

At endless game projects the daring spear!
For fhort is life's uncertain race;
Then why, capricious mortal! why
Doft thou for happiness repair

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To diftant climates, and a foreign air ? Fool! from thyfelf thou canst not fly, Thyfelf, the fource of all thy care. So flies the wounded stag, provok'd with pain, Bounds o'er the spacious downs in vain ; The feather'd torment sticks within his fide, And from the fiarting wound a purple tide Marks all his way with blood, and dyes the graffy plain..

V.

But fwifter far is execrable Care

Than ftags, or winds that through the skies
Thick-driving fnows and gather'd tempefts bear

Purfuing Care the failing fhip out-flies,
Climbs the tall veffel's painted fides;
Nor leaves arm'd fquadrons in the field,
But with the marching horfemen rides,

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And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield.

VI.

Then, fince no ftate 's compleatly bleft,
Let's learn the bitter to allay

With gentle mirth, and wisely gay
Enjoy at least the present day,

And leave to fate the reft.

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Nor

Nor with vain fear of ills to come
Anticipate th' appointed doom.
Soon did Achilles quit the stage,

The hero fell by fudden death;

While Tithon to a tedious wafting age

Drew his protracted breath.

And thus old partial Time, my friend,

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Perhaps unafk'd to worthless me

Thofe hours of lengthen'd life may lend,

Which he'll refufe to thee.

VII.

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Thee fhining wealth and plenteous joys furround, And, all thy fruitful fields around,

Unnumber'd herds of cattle ftray.

Thy harness'd steeds with sprightly voice 80
Make neighbouring vales and hills rejoice,

While smoothly thy gay chariot flies o'er the swift meafur'd way.

To me the fears, with less profufion kind,
An humble Fortune have affign'd,

And no untuneful Lyric vein,

But a fincere contented mind,

That can the vile malignant crowd disdain.

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THE

THE

BIRTH OF THE ROSE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

ONCE, on a folemn feftal.day

Held by th' immortals in the skies,

Flora had fummon'd all the Deities
That rule o'er gardens, or survey
The birth of greens and fpringing flowers,
And thus addrefs'd the genial powers.

Ye shining graces of my courtly train,
The cause of this affembly know!
In fovereign majesty I reign

O'er the gay flowery univerfe below ;
Yet, my increafing glory to maintain,

A

queen I'll chufe, with spotless honour fair,
The delegated crown to wear.

Let me your counsel and affistance ask,
T'accomplish this momentous task.

The Deities that stood around,
At first return'd a murmuring found;
Then faid, Fair goddess, do you know
The factious feuds this must create,
What jealous rage and mutual hate
Among the rival flowers will grow ?

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The

The vileft thistle that infests the plain

Will think his tawdry painted pride Deferves the crown; and, if deny'd, Perhaps with traitor-plots moleft your reign. Vain are your fears, Flora reply'd,

'Tis fix'd and hear how I'll the caufe decide.

Deep in a venerable wood,

Where Oaks, with vocal skill endued, Did wondrous oracles of old impart, Beneath a little hill's inclining fide

A grotto 's feen where nature's art Is exercis'd in all her smiling pride. Retir'd in this sweet graffy cell,

A lovely wood-nymph once did dwell.

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She always pleas'd; for more than mortal fire

Shone in her eyes, and did her charms inípire;

A Dryad bore the beauteous nymph, a Sylvan was her fire.

Chafte, wife, devout, she still obey'd

With humble zeal heaven's dread commands, 40

To every action afk'd our aid,

And oft before our altars pray'd;

Pure was her heart, and undefil'd her hands.

She's dead and from her sweet remains

The wondrous mixture I would take,

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This much defir'd, this perfect flower to make. Affift, and thus, with our transforming pains, We'll dignify the garden-beds, and grace our favourite

plains.

Th'

Th' applauding Deities with pleasure heard,
And for the grateful work prepar❜d.

A bufy face the God of Gardens wore ;
Vertumnus of the party too,

From various sweets th' exhaling spirits drew
While, in full canisters, Pomona bore

Of richeft fruits a plenteous ftore;

And Vefta promis'd wondrous things to do.
Gay Venus led a lively train

Of Smiles and Graces: the plump God of Wine
From clusters did the flowing nectar strain,

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And fill'd large goblets with his juice divine.
Thus charg'd, they feek the honour'd shade
Where liv'd and dy'd the spotless maid.

бо

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On a foft couch of turf the body lay;
Th' approaching Deities prefs'd all around,
Prepar'd the facred rites to pay

In filence, and with awe profound.

Flora thrice bow'd, and thus was heard to pray.
Jove! mighty Jove! whom all adore ;

Exert thy great creative power!

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Let this fair corpse be mortal clay no more; Transform it to a tree, to bear a beauteous flower

Scarce had the Goddess spoke; when see!

The nymph's extended limbs the form of branches

wear:

Behold the wondrous change, the fragrant tree!
To leaves was turn'd her flowing hair ;
And rich diffus'd perfumes regal'd the wanton air.

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Heavens !