To bleeding love fuch hard returns you gave,
As barbarous rocks that dash the preffing wave.
O could your looks have turn'd my hapless fate,
And frown'd my short-liv'd paffion into hate;
Then had no scattering breeze my forrows known,
Nor vale refponfive had prolong'd the moan;
Then had those lips ne'er learn'd their woeful tale,
Nor Death yet cloath'd them in eternal pale!
Oft to the woods in frantick rage I flew,
To cool my bofom with the falling dew;
Oft, in fad accents, figh'd each prompting ill,
And taught wild oaks to pity and to feel;
Till, with despair, my heart rekindled burns,
And all the anguish of my soul returns.

Then, reftlefs, to the fragrant meads I hie,
Death in my face, diftraction in my eye;
There, as reclin'd, along the verdant plain,
My grief renews her heart-wrung ftrains again:
Lo! pitying Phoebus finks, with forrow pale,
And mournful Night defcends upon the tale!

When tir'd, at length, my wrongs no more complain,
And fighs are ftifled in obtufer pain;

When the deep fountains of my eyes are spent,

And fiercer anguifh finks to discontent;
Slow I return, and, proftrate on my bed,
Bid the foft pillow lull my heavy head.
But, oh! when downy fleep it's court renews,
And fhades the foul with vifionary views,
Illufive dreams, to fan my flumb'ring fire,
And wake the fever of intense defire,
Present your fofter image to my fight,

All warm with fmiles, and glowing with delight;
Gods! with what blifs I view thy darling charms,
And strive to clafp thee melting in my arms !—
But, ah! the fhade my empty grafp deceives;
And as it flits, and my fond foul bereaves,

The tranfient flumbers flip their airy chain,
And give me back to all my woes again :
There, wrapt in floods of grief, I figh forlorn,
The conftant greetings of unwelcome morn.
But fhould Oblivion re-affume her sway,
And flumbers once more steal my woes away;
When the short flights of Fancy intervene,
Your much-lov'd image fills out ev'ry scene.
But now no more foft fmiles your face adorn,
Lo! o'er each feature broods deftructive scorn.
Suppliant in tears I urge my fuit again,

Sullen you ftand, and view me with disdain;
Your ears exclude the ftory of my smart,
Your baleful eyes dart anguish to my heart:
I wake-glad Nature hails returning day,
And the wild fong fters chaunt their mattin-lay;
The fun in glory mounts the chrystal sky,
And all creation is in fmiles-but I.

Then fink in death, my fenfes !-for in vain

You ftrive to quench the phrenzy of your pain.

Break, break, fond heart!-her hate thou canst not tamé;

Then take this certain triumph o'er thy flame.

'Tis done!—the dread of future wrongs is pass'd

Lo! brittle paffion verges to it's laft!

'Tis done!-vain life's illufive fcenes are o'er-
Difdainful Beauty shakes her chains no more.
Come, peaceful gloom, expand thy downy breaft,
And foothe, O foothe me to eternal reft!

There hush my plaints, and gently lull my woes,
Where one ftill ftream of dull oblivion flows.

No labouring breaft there heaves with Torture's throes,
No heart confumes her daily hoard of woes;

No dreams of former pain the foul invade;

Calmly fhe fleeps, a fad unthinking fhade!

But ere from thought my ftruggling foul is free, One latest tear the dedicates to thee.

Ske

She views thee on the brink of vain defpair,
Beat thy big breaft, and rend thy flowing hair;
Feels torturing Love her fable deluge roll,
Weigh down thy fenfes, and o'erbear thy foul.
In vain your heart relents, in vain you weep,
No lover wakes from his eternal fleep.
Alas! I fee thy frantick spirit rave,

And thy last breath expiring on my grave.
Is this the fortune of thofe high-priz'd charms?
Ah! fpare them for some worthier lover's arms.
And may these bodings ne'er with truth agree!
May grief and anguish be unknown to thee!
May bitter Memory ne'er recount with pain,
That e'er you frown'd, or I admir'd in vain!

No more my spirit is prepar'd to fly;
Supprefs'd my voice, and ftiffen'd is my eye:
Death's fwimming fhadows intercept my view;
Vain world, and thou, relentless nymph, adieu!

IN

The warrior Crofus held fupreme command:

Vaft was his wealth, for conqueft swell'd his store;

Nor what enrich'd the prince, had left the people poor.,

T'wo fons he had, alike in outward mien,

The tender pledges of a dying queen:

. But, fpeechless, one ne'er taught his fire to melt With lifping eloquence, by parents felt,

And mimick art in vain expedients fought

To form the tongue, and free th' imprison'd thought.
Yet blooming Atys well that lofs fupply'd ;
Atys, the people's hope, and monarch's pride:
His beauteous foul thro' ev'ry feature glow'd;
And from his lips fuch foft perfuafion flow'd,
As Nature had witheld the brother's share,
Only to pour a double portion there.

But vain those graces; fince, conceal'd from view,
They droop in shades, and wither where they grew.
For one dread night, when o'er the weary king
The drowsy god had stretch'd his leaden wing,
He feem'd, he knew not where, in wars engag'd,
And whilft around the doubtful battle rag'd,
Saw from fome hoftile hand unerring part
A fatal fpear, which pierc'd his Atys' heart.
He starts, he wakes-'tis night and filence all!
Yet, fcarce confirm'd, he ftill beholds him fall;
Still bleeds in Fancy's eye the gaping wound,
On Fancy's ear the dying groans refound.
Again he fleeps; the fame fad fcenes return-
Restless he rolls, and waits the ling'ring morn,
What can he do? or how prevent a doom,
Which Heav'n foretels, and Fate has faid fhall come?
And yet, perhaps, the gods these dreams inspire,
To fave the guiltless son, and warn the fire.
Too fond of arms I wander'd far aftray,

• While Youth and blind Ambition led the way;
And ravag'd countries may at length demand
This bleeding facrifice at Crœfus' hand.
Then hear me, gods propitious, while I swear,
• Peace, only peace, shall be my future care.
O would your pow'rs but fave my darling boy,
No more this breast shall glow, this arm destroy!

• Nor

Nor e'er shall Atys the dire sport purfue ;
Still in my court, and feldom from my view.
In cafe inglorious fhall he pafs his days,
• Untaught to feel th' infatiate luft of praife.'
He fpake; and cautious far away remov❜d
From Atys, what next Atys most he lov❜d,
The pomp of war: no falchions guard the gate,
And chiefs, unarm'd, around his palace wait.
Nay, farther still extends a parent's fear;

E'en arms themselves he dreads, and most the spear:
Nor leaves of ancient wars the weak remains,
But ftrips the trophies from the mould'ring fanes;
Left, fix'd too loofely, from the faithlefs ftone
The cafual steel should drop, and pierce his fon.
Thus fome sweet warbler of the feather'd throng,
Deep in the thorny brake fecures her young;
Yet, vainly anxious, feels a fancied woe,
And starts at ev'ry breeze that stirs the bough;
With filent horror hears the whifp'ring groves,
And distant murmurs of the spring the loves.
Unhappy fire! but vainly we oppose
Weak, human caution, when the gods are foes.
The ftory's fequel muft too furely prove,

That dreams, prophetick dreams, descend from Jove.

Nor yet shall Atys thwart thy fond designs ; He moves implicit as his fire inclines:

On ev'ry look his eager duty hung,

And read his wishes ere they reach'd his tongue.
With fmiles he strips his helmet's plumy pride,
With fmiles he lays his useless fpear afide;
Nor lets one figh confefs a latent care,
Referving all his griefs for his Adrastus' ear.

Adraftus early did his foul approve ;

Brave, virtuous, learn'd, and form'd for Atys' love;
A Phrygian youth, whom Fate condemn'd to roam,
An exil'd wand'rer from a cruel home: