Pity my wild delusive flame;
For though the flowers are still the same,
To me they languish or improve,
And plainly tell me that I love.'
WHEN first, Philander, first I came
Where Avon rolls his winding stream,
The nymphs-how brisk! the swains-how gay!
To see Asteria, queen of May !—
The parsons round, her praises sung!
The steeples with her praises rung!—
I thought-no sight that e'er was seen
Could match the sight of Barel's Green.
But now, since old Eugenio died-
The chief of poets, and the pride-
Now, meaner bards in vain aspire
To raise their voice, to tune their lyre;
Their lovely season now is o'er;
Thy notes, Florelio, please no more-
No more Asteria's smiles are seen-
Adieu-the sweets of Barel's Green!-
WHY o'er the verdant banks of ooze Does yonder halcyon speed so fast?'Tis all because she would not lose
Her favourite calm, that will not last.
The sun with azure paints the skies,
The stream reflects each flowery spray;
And, frugal of her time, she flies
To take her fill of love and play.
See her, when rugged Boreas blows,
Warm in some rocky cell remain;
To seek for pleasure, well she knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.
'Descend, (she cries) thou hated show'r, Deform my limpid waves to-day; For I have chose a fairer hour
To take my fill of love and play.
You, too, my Sylvia, sure will own
Life's azure seasons swiftly roll;
And when our youth or health is flown,
To think of love but shocks the soul.
Could Damon but deserve thy charms,
As thou art Damon's only theme,
He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms
As yonder halcyon skims the stream.
THE JUDGMENT OF HERCULES.
WHILE blooming Spring descends from genial skies,
By whose mild influence instant wonders rise,
From whose soft breath Elysian beauties flow,
The sweets of Hagley, or the pride of Stow;
Will Lyttelton the rural landscape range,
Leave noisy fame, and not regret the change?
Pleas'd will he tread the garden's early scenes,
And learn a moral from the rising greens?
There, warm'd alike by Sol's enlivening pow'r,
The weed, aspiring, emulates the flow'r;
The drooping flower, its fairer charms display'd,
Invites from grateful hands their generous aid :
Soon, if none check the' invasive foe's designs,
The lively lustre of these scenes declines!
'Tis thus the spring of youth, the morn of life,
Rears in our minds the rival seeds of strife:
Then passion riots, reason then contends,
And on the conquest every bliss depends:
Life from the nice decision takes its hue;
And bless'd those judges who decide like you!
On worth like theirs shall every bliss attend,
The world their favourite, and the world their friend.
There are who, blind to thought's fatiguing ray,
As Fortune gives examples, urge their way;
Not Virtue's foes, though they her paths decline,
And scarce her friends, though with her friends they
In her's or Vice's casual road advance, [join;
Thoughtless, the sinners or the saints of Chance!
Yet some more nobly scorn the vulgar voice,
With judgment fix, with zeal pursue their choice,
When ripen'd thought, when reason born to reign,
Checks the wild tumults of the youthful vein;
While passion's lawless tides, at their command,
Glide through more useful tracts, and bless the land.
Happiest of these is he, whose matchless mind,
By learning strengthen'd and by taste refin'd,
- In Virtue's cause essay'd its earliest pow'rs, [flow'rs:
Chose Virtue's paths, and strew'd her paths with
The first alarm'd, if Freedom waves her wings,
The fittest to adorn each art she brings;
Lov'd by that prince whom every virtue fires,
Prais'd by that bard whom every Muse inspires;
Bless'd in the tuneful art, the social flame;
In all that wins, in all that merits fame!
'Twas youth's perplexing stage his doubts inspir'd, When great Alcides to a grove retir'd:
Through the lone windings of a devious glade,
Resign'd to thought, with lingering steps he stray'd;
Bless'd with a mind to taste sincerer joys,
Arm'd with a heart each false one to despise.
Dubious he stray'dwith wavering thoughts possess'd,
Alternate passions struggling shar'd his breast;
The various arts which human cares divide,
In deep attention all his mind employ'd ;
Anxious, if Fame an equal bliss secur'd,
Or silent Ease with softer charms allur'd.
The silvan choir, whose numbers sweetly flow'd,
The fount that murmur'd,and the flow'rs that blow'd;
The silver flood that in meanders led
His glittering streams along th' enliven'd mead;
The soothing breeze, and all those beauties join'd,
Which, whilst they please, effeminate the mind;
In vain! while distant, on a summit rais'd,
The' imperial towers of Fame attractive blaz❜d.
While thus he trac'd through fancy's puzzling maze
The separate sweets of pleasure and of praise,
Sudden the wind a fragrant gale convey'd,
And a new lustre gain'd upon the shade:
At once before his wondering eyes were seen
Two female forms, of more than mortal mien :
Various their charms, and in their dress and face
Each seem'd to vie with some peculiar grace.
This, whose attire less clogg'd with art appear'd,
The simple sweets of innocence endear'd:
Her sprightly bloom, her quick sagacious eye,
Show'd native merit mix'd with modesty:
Her air diffus'd a mild yet awful ray,
Severely sweet, and innocently gay.
Such the chaste image of the martial maid,
In artless folds of virgin white array'd.
She let no borrow'd rose her cheeks adorn,
Her blushing cheeks, that sham'd the purple morn:
Her charms nor had nor wanted artful foils,
Or studied gestures, or well-practis'd smiles:
She scorn'd the toys which render beauty less;
She prov'd the' engaging chastity of dress;
And while she chose in native charms to shine,
Ev'n thus she seem'd, nay, more than seem'd divine.
One modest emerald clasp'd the robe she wore,
And in her hand the' imperial sword she bore.
Sublime her height, majestic was her pace,
And match'd the awful honours of her face.
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