15

CHORUS.
Love's purer flames the Gods approve;
The Gods and Brutus hend to love :

Brutus for absent Portia fighs,
And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.

What is loose love? a transient guft,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wand'ring, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one;
Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,

Productive as the Sun.

SEMICHORUS.
Oh source of ev'ry social tye,
United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attendgr
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?

Whether his hoary fire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise ;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny ;
What tender paffions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move ?
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,

With rev’rence, hope, and love.

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35

CHORUS.
Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmizes,
Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine :
Pureft love's unwafting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,
Days of ease, and nights of pleasure :

Sacred Hymen! these are thine.

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

HA

Appy the man whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground;

5

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks fupply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find,

Hours, days and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

Together mixt; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please,

With meditation.

15

The Dying Christian to his Soul.

OD E.

V ITAL spark of heav'nly flame! '

V Quit, oh quit this mortal frame : Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!

Cease, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife, And let me languish into life.

II.
Hark! the whisper; Angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my senses, shuts my fight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death ?

III.
The world recedes ; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes ! my ears

With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

T