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 distant climates, and a foreign air? Fool! from thyself thou canst not fly, Thyself, the fource of all thy care. So flies the wounded stag, provok'd with pain, Bounds o'er the fpacious downs in vain; The feather'd torment flicks within his fide, And from the fmarting wound a purple tide Marks all his way with blood, and dyes the grassy plain.

V.

But fwifter far is execrable Care

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Than ftags, or winds that through the skies Thick-driving fnows and gather'd tempeíts 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, And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield.

VI.

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

With gentle mirth, and wifely 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 ftage,

The hero fell by fudden death;
While Tithon to a tedious wafting age

Drew his protracted breath.

And thus old partial Time, my friend,

Perhaps unafk'd to worthlefs me

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Those hours of lengthen'd life may lend,

Which he'll refufe to thee.

VII.

Thee fhining wealth and plenteous joys surround,
And, all thy fruitful fields around,
Unnumber'd herds of cattle ftray.

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Thy harnefs'd fteeds with fprightly voice
Make neighbouring vales and hills rejoice,
While fmoothly thy gay chariot flies o'er the swift
meafur'd way.

To me the ftars, with lefs 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.

F.RO. M 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 furvey
The birth of greens and fpringing flowers,
And thus addrefs'd the genial powers.

Ye fhining graces of my courtly train,
The caufe of this affembly know!
In fovereign majesty I reign
O'er the gay flowery universe below;
Yet, my increasing glory to maintain,

A queen I'll choose with spotlefs,honour fair,

The delegated crown to wear.

Let me your

counsel and affistance ask,

T'accomplish this momentous task.

The deities that flood around,.

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

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The vileft thistle that infefts the plain
Will think his tawdry painted pride
Deferves the crown; and, if deny'd,

Perhaps with traitor-plots molest your reign.
Vain are your fears, Flora reply'd,

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"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 fmiling pride. Retir'd in this fweet graffy cell,

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A lovely wood-nymph once did dwell. She always pleas'd; for more than mortal fire Shone in her eyes, and did her charms inspire; A Dryad bore the beauteous nymph, a Sylvan was her fire.

Chafte, wife, devout, fhe ftill obey'd

With humble zeal Heaven's dread commands, 40
Το every action ask'd our aid,

And oft before our altars pray'd;

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

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She's dead-and from her sweet remains The wondrous mixture I would take, 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 fweets th' exhaling fpirits drew;
While, in full canisters, Pomona bore

Of richest fruits a plenteous store;
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,
And fill'd large goblets with his juice divine.
Thus charg'd, they seek the honour'd fhade
Where liv'd and died the spotlefs maid.
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!

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

Scarce had the goddess spoke; when fee!

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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 !