Pitying his toil, the wond'rous truth I told;

;

How am'rous Jove trepann'd a mortal fair How thro' the race the generous current roll'd, And mocks the poet's art, and painter's care.

Yes, from the gods, from earliest Saturn, fprung
Our facred race; thro' demigods, convey'd ;
And he, ally'd to PHOEBUS, ever young,
My god-like boy, muft wed their duteous maid.

Oft, when a mortal vow profanes my ear,
My fire's dread fury murmurs thro' the sky;
And should I yield his instant rage appears,
He darts th' uplifted vengeance--and I die.

Have you `not heard unwonted thunders roll!
Have you not feen more horrid light'nings glare!
'Twas then a vulgar love enfnar'd my foul:
"Twas then-I hardly fcap'd the fatal fnare.

"Twas then a peasant pour'd his amorous vow,
All as I líften'd to his vulgar ftrain ;-
Yet fuch his beauty wou'd my birth allow,
Dear were the youth, and blissful were the plain.

`But oh! I faint! why waftes my vernal bloom, In fruitless searches ever doom'd to rove? My nightly dreams the toilfome path refume,

And I fhall die--before I find my love.

When

When laft I flept, methought, my ravish'd eye,
On diftant heaths his radiant form furvey'd ;
Tho' night's thick clouds encompass'd all the sky,
The gems that bound his brow, difpell'd the shade.

O how this bofom kindled at the fight!

Led by their beams I urg'd the pleafing chace; "Till, on a fudden, these with-held their lightAll, all things envy the fublime embrace.

But now no more-behind the distant grove,
Wanders my deftin'd youth, and chides my stay:
See, fee, he grafps the fteel--forbear my love-
IANTHE Comes; thy princess haftes away.”

Scornful she spoke, and heedlefs of reply
The lovely maniac bounded o'er the plain;

The piteous victim of an angry fky!

Ah me! the victim of her proud disdain !

ELEGY XVII.

He indulges the fuggeftions of fpleen: an elegy to the winds.

Eole, namque tibi divum pater atque hominum rex
Et mulcere dedit mentes & tollere vento.

TERN monarch of the winds, admit my pray'r!

STERE

Awhile thy fury check, thy ftorms confine!

No trivial blast impells the paffive air;

But brews a tempeft in a breast like mine,

What bands of black ideas spread their wings!
The peaceful regions of content invade!
With deadly poison taint the crystal springs !

With noifome vapour blaft the verdant shade!

I know their leader, fpleen; and dread the fway
Of rigid EURUS, his detefted fire;
Thro' one my blossoms and my
fruits decay;
Thro' one my pleasures, and my hopes expire.

Like fome pale ftripling, when his icy way
Relenting yields beneath the noontide beam,
I ftand aghaft; and chill'd with fear furvey
How far I've tempted life's deceitful stream!

Where

Where by remorfe impell'd, repuls'd by fears,
Shall wretched fancy a retreat explore?
She flies the fad prefage of coming years,

And forr'wing dwells on pleasures now no more!"

Again with patrons, and with friends she roves;
But friends and patrons never to return!
She fees the nymphs, the graces, and the loves,
But fees them, weeping o'er LUCINDA's urn.

She vifits, Isis! thy forfaken ftream,
Oh ill forfaken for Baotian air!

She deems no flood reflects fo bright a beam,
No reed fo verdant, and no flow'rs so fair.

She dreams beneath thy facred fhades were peace,
Thy bays might ev'n the civil ftorm repel;
Reviews thy focial blifs, thy learned ease,

And with no chearful accent cries, farewel!

Farewel, with whom to these retreats I stray'd!
By youthful sports, by youthful toils ally'd!
Joyous we fojourn'd in thy circling shade,
And wept to find the paths of life divide.

She paints the progress of my
rival's vow;
Sees ev'ry mufe a partial ear incline;
Binds with luxuriant bays his favour'd brow,
Nor yields the refuse of his wreath to mine.

ELEGY XVIII.

He repeats the fong of COLLIN, a difcerning fhepherd; lamenting the state of the woollen manufactury.

Ergo omni ftudio glaciem ventofque nivales,
Quo minus eft illis curæ mortalis egestas,
Avertes: victumque feres.

N

*

VIRGIL.

YEAR AVON's bank, on ARDEN's flow'ry plain, A tuneful fhepherd charm'd the lift'ning wave; And funny CorSOL' fondly lov'd the strain ;

Yet not a garland crowns the fhepherd's grave!

Oh loft OPHELIA! smoothly flow'd the day,
To feel his music with my flames agree!
To taste the beauties of his melting lay,

To taste, and fancy it was dear to thee.

When, for his tomb, with each revolving year,
I fteal the mufk-rofe from the fcented brake,
I ftrew my cowflips, and I pay my tear,
I'll add the myrtle for OPHELIA's fake.

Shiv'ring beneath a leaflefs thorn he lay,

When death's chill rigour feiz'd his flowing tongue, The more I found his fault'ring notes decay,

The more prophetic truth fublim'd the fong.

Mr. SOMERVILLE.

"Adieu