Faft by, a Naïad taught her ftream to glide,

Which through the dale a winding channel wore ; The filver willow deck'd it's verdant fide,

The whisp'ring fedges wav'd along the fhore.

Here oft, when morn peep'd o'er the dusky hill;
Here oft, when eve bedew'd the misty vale ;
Careless he laid him all befide the rill,

And pour'd in strains like these his artless tale.

Ah!' would he say-and then a figh would heave; Ah, Cynthia! sweeter than the breath of morn, Soft as the gentle breath that fans at eve,

• Of thee bereft, how shall I live forlorn?

• Ah! what avails this fweetly folemn bow'r,

That filent ftream where dimpling eddies play; Yon thymy bank, bedeck'd with many a flow'r, • Where maple-tufts exclude the beam of day?

• Robb'd of my love; for how can thefe delight,

Though lavish Spring her fmiles around has caft! Despair, alas! that whelms the foul in night, • Dims the fad eye, and deadens ev'ry taste.

As droops the lily at the blighting gale;

Or crimson-fpotted cowflip of the mead, Whose tender ftalk (alas! their stalk fo frail)

• Some hafty foot hath bruis'd with heedless tread :

As droops the woodbine, when some village hind Hath fell'd the fapling elm it fondly bound;

No more it gadding dances in the wind,

But trails it's fading beauties on the ground;

So droops my foul, dear maid, downcaft and fad,

For ever! ah, for ever torn from thee!

• Bereft of each sweet hope, which once it had,

When love, when treacherous love, first fmil'd on me.

Return, blefs'd days! return, ye laughing hours,
Which led me up the roseate steep of youth;

Which ftrew'd my fimple path with vernal flow'rs,

And bade me court chaste Science, and fair Truth.

Ye know, the curling breeze, or gilded fly

That idly wantons in the noon-tide air,

Was not fo free, was not fo gay as I,

For, ah! I knew not then, or love, or care.

Witness, ye winged daughters of the year,
If e'er a figh had learn'd to heave my breast!
If e'er my cheek was confcious of a tear,

Till Cynthia came, and robb'd my foul of rest!

O, have you feen, bath'd in the morning dew,
The budding rofe it's infant bloom display;
When first it's virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trufts the blaze of day.

• So foft, fo delicate, so sweet she came,

Youth's damask glow juft dawning on her cheek:

I gaz'd, I figh'd, I caught the tender flame,
Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with paffion, weak.

Yet not unpity'd was my pain the while ;

For oft, befide yon fweet-briar in the dale, With many a blush, with many a melting fmile,

She fate and liften'd to the plaintive tale.

• Ah,

• Ah, me! I fondly dream'd of pleasures rare,

Nor deem'd fo fweet a face with fcorn could glow; How could you cruel, then, pronounce despair,

• Chill the warm hope, and plant the thorn of woe ?

What, though no treasures canker in my cheft,

• Nor crowds of suppliant vaffals hail me lord! What, though my roof can boaft no princely guest, • Nor furfeits lurk beneath my frugal board!

Yet fhould Content, that fhuns the gilded bed,

• With smiling Peace, and Virtue there forgot,

And rofe-lip'd Health, which haunts the ftraw-built fhed, With cherub Joy, frequent my little cot:

• Led by chafte Love, the decent band should come,
O, charmer, would'ft thou deign my roof to fhare!
• Nor fhould the Mufes fcorn our fimple dome;
Or, knit in myftick dance, the Graces fair.

• The woodland nymphs, and gentle fays, at eve,
Forth from the dripping cave and moffy dell,
• Should round our hearth fantastick measures weave,
• And shield from mischief by their guardian spell.

Come then, bright maid, and quit the city throng,
Have rural joys no charm to win the foul?-
She proud, alas! derides my lowly fong,

Scorns the fond vow, and spurns the ruffet ftole.

Then, Love, be gone! thy thriftless empire yield; • In youthful toils I'll lofe th' unmanly pain :

• With echoing horns I'll rouze the jocund field,

Urge the keen chace, and fweep along the plain.

< Or

• Or all in fome lone mofs-grown tow'r fublime,

With midnight lamp I'll watch pale Cynthia round, Explore the choiceft rolls of ancient Time,

And heal with Wisdom's balm my hapless wound.

< Or elfe I'll roam-Ah, no! that figh profound
• Tells me that ftubborn love disdains to yield;
Nor flight, nor Wisdom's balm can heal the wound,
Nor pain forfake me in the jocund field!'

E northern blafts, and Eurus *, wont to sweep

Awhile fufpend your violence, and waft

From fandy Wefer † and the broad mouth'd Elbe,
t
My freighted veffels to the deftin'd shore,

Safe o'er th' unruffled main : let ev'ry thought,
Which may difquiet and alarm my breaft,
Be abfent now; that, difpoffefs'd of care,
And free from ev'ry tumult of the mind,
With each disturbing passion hush'd to peace,
I may pour all my spirit on the theme
Which opens now before me, and demands
The loftier ftrain. The eagle, when he tow'rs
Beyond the clouds, the fleecy robes of heaven,
Difdains all objects but the golden fun,

The east wind.

Bremen is fituated on the Wefer, and Hamburgh on the Elbe.

Full

Full on th' effulgent orb directs his eye,
And fails exulting through the blaze of day;
So, while her wing attempts the boldest flight,
Rejecting each inferior theme of praife,
Thee, ornament of Europe, Albion's pride,
Fair feat of wealth and freedom, thee my Mufe
Shall celebrate, O London; thee fhe hails.
Thou lov'd abode of Commerce, laft retreat,'
Whence the contemplates with a tranquil mind
Her various wand'rings from the fated hour,
That the abandon'd her maternal clime;
Neptunian Commerce, whom Phonice bore,
Illuftrious nymph, that nam'd the fertile plains
Along the founding main extended far,
Which flow'ry Carmel with it's fweet perfumes,
And with it's cedars Libanus o'erfhades.
Her from the bottom of the wat'ry world,
As once she stood, in radiant beauties grac❜d,
To mark the heaving tide, the piercing eye
Of Neptune view'd enamour'd: from the deep
The god afcending rufhes to the beach,
And clafps th' affrighted virgin. From that day,
Soon as the paly regent of the night

Nine times her monthly progress had renew'd
Thro' Heaven's illumin'd vault, Phoenice, led
By fhame, once more the fea-worn margin fought:
There pac'd with painful steps the barren fands,
A folitary mourner; and the furge,

Which gently roll'd befide her, now no more
With placid eyes beholding, thus exclaim'd.

• Ye fragrant fhrubs and cedars, lofty shade,
Which crown my native hills, ye fpreading palms,
That rife majestick on these fruitful meads,
With you, who gave the loft Phonice birth,
And you, who bear th' endearing name of friends,
Once faithful partners of my chafter hours,
2 I

• Farewel!