LOVE DISARMED.

BENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade
As Cloe half asleep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breast,
And in that Heaven desir'd to rest:
Over her paps his wings he spread ;
Between he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Still lay the god: the nymph, surpris'd,
Yet mistress of herself, devis'd
How she the vagrant might inthral,
And captive him, who captives all.
Her bodice half-way she unlac'd;
About his arms she slily cast
The silken bond, and held him fast.

The god awak'd; and thrice in vain
He strove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Encumber'd in the silken string.
Fluttering the god, and weeping, said,
Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happen'd, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom lost his way;
Who stray'd, alas! but knew too well,
He never there must hope to dwell:
Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee."

"To me pertains not," she replies, "To know or care where Cupid flies; What are his haunts, or which his way; Where he would dwell, or whither stray: Yet will I never set thee free;

For harm was meant, and harm to me.
"Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!
I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again."

"Agreed: secure my virgin heart:
Instant give up thy bow and dart :
The chain I'll in return untie;
And freely thou again shalt fly."
Thus she the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The god disarin'd, e'er since that day,
Passes his life in harmless play;
Flies round, or sits upon her breast,
A little, fluttering, idle guest.

F'er since that day, the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's stead;
Directs his arrow as she wills;
Gives grief, or pleasure; spares, or kills.

CLOE HUNTING.

BEHIND her neck her comely tresses tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
A hunting Cloe went: she lost her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to stray.
Apollo, passing by, beheld the maid,

And, "Sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn," he said;
"The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake."
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to see the God's mistake,
And, laughing, cried, "Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd far hence thy sister seck,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.

But in this nymph, my friend, my sister know!
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow:
Fair Thames she haunts, and ever neighbouring
Sacred to soft recess, and gentle love. [grove,

Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer:
I and my Cloc take a nobler aim:

At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game."

CUPID AND GANYMEde.

Is Heaven, one holiday, you read
In wise Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw
A main, to pass an hour, or so.
The little Trojan by the way,

By Herines taught, play'd all the play.
The god unhappily engag'd,

By nature rash, by play enrag'd,
Complain'd, and sigh'd, and cried and fretted
Lost every earthly thing he betted:

In ready money, all the store

Pick'd up long since from Danaë's shower;

A snuff-box, set with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His nine-pius made of myrtle wood
(The tree in Ida's forest stood);
His bowl pure gold, the very same
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame;
Two table-books in shagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verse from real lovers;
Merchandise rare! a billet-doux,

Its matter passionate, yet true;

Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd scals;
Rich trifles; serious bagatelles.

What sad disorders play begets!
Desperate and mad, at length he sets
Those darts, whose points make gods adore
His might, and deprecate his power:
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain
Arise those darts-" Come, seven's the main,"
Cries Ganymede: the usual trick:

Seven, slur a six; eleven, a nick.

Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known
That simple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew:
Too late she found the thing too true.
Guess how the goddess greets her son:
"Come hither, sirrah; no, begone!
And, hark ye, is it so indeed?
A comrade you for Ganymede?
An imp as wicked, for his age,
As any earthly lady's page;

A scandal and a scourge to Troy ;
A prince's son! a black-guard boy;
A sharper, that with box and dice
Draws in young deities to vice.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Since first that little rogue came hither
Juno herself has had no peace:
And truly I've been favour'd less:
For Jove, as Fame reports (but Fame
Says things not fit for me to name),
| Has acted ill for such a god,
And taken ways extremely odd.

"And thou, unhappy child," she said, (Her anger by her grief allay'd)

* Unhappy child, who thus hast lost
All the estate we e'er could boast;
Whither, O whither wilt thou run,

Thy name despis'd, thy weakness known?
Nor shall thy shrine on Earth be crown'd;
Nor shall thy power in Heaven be own'd;
When thou nor man nor god canst wound."
Obedient Cupid kneeling cried,
"Cease, dearest mother, cease to chide:
Gany's a cheat, and I'm a bubble:
Yet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were false: the darts are gone:
Yet how are you, or I, undone ?

The loss of these I can supply
With keener shafts from Cloe's eye:
Fear not we e'er can be disgrac'd
While that bright magazine shall last:
Your crowded altars still shall smoke;
And man your friendly aid invoke:
Jove shall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.

CUPID MISTAKEN.

As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart,

With all his might his bow he drew ; Swift to his beauteous parent's heart The too-well-guided arrow flew. "I faint! I die!" the goddess cried : "O cruel, could'st thou find none other, To wreck thy spleen on? parricide!

Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother." Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak; "Indeed, mainma, I did not know ye : Alas! how easy my mistake!

I took you for your likeness Cloe."

VENUS MISTAKEN.

WHEN Cloe's picture was to Venus shown, Surpris'd, the goddess took it for her own. [mean? And what," said she, "does this bold painter When was I bathing thus, and naked seen?”

Pleas'd Cupid heard, and check'd his mother's pride;

"And who's blind now, mamma?" the urchin cried. "Tis Cloe's eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast: Friend Howard's genius fancied all the rest."

A SONG

If wine and music have the power
To ease the sickness of the soul,
Let Phoebus every string explore,
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ,
To make my Cloe's absence light;
And seek for pleasure, to destroy

The sorrows of this live-long night.

But she tomorrow will return:

Venus, be thou to:morrow great; Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn, And meet thy favourite nymph in state. Kind goddess, to no other powers

Let us tomorrow's blessings own: Thy darling loves shall guide the hours; And all the day be thine alone.

THE DOVE.

-Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ ?

IN Virgil's sacred verse we find,
That passion can depress or raise
The heavenly, as the human mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
But if they should, what our great master
Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove :
Fair Venus wept the sad disaster

Of having lost her favourite Dove.

149

Virg.

In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
His grief reliev'd his mother's pain;
He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd,
But she should have her Dove again.
"Though none," said he, "shall yet be nam'd,
I know the felon well enough:

But be she not, Mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal proof."

With that, his longest dart he took,
As constable would take his staff:
That gods desire like men to look,
Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh.
Love's subalterns, a duteous band,

Like watchmen, round their chief appear;

Each had his lantern in his hand;
And Venus mask'd brought up the rear.
Accoutred thus, their eager step
To Cloe's lodging they directed:
(At once I write, alas! and weep,
That Cloe is of theft suspected).
Late they set out, had far to go :

St. Dunstan's as they pass'd struck onę.
Cloe, for reasons good, you know,

Lives at the sober end o' th' town.

With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting-day.

Folks at her house at such an hour!
Lord! what will all the neighbours say ?

The door is open up they run:

Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed: "Thieves! thieves!" cries Susan; "we're undone; They'll kill my mistress in her bed."

In bed indeed the nymph had been
Three hours: for, all historians say,
She commonly went up at ten,

Unless piquet was in the way.

She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise:
O Cupid, is this right or law,
Thus to disturb the brightest eyes,
That ever slept, or ever saw

Have you observ'd a sitting hare,

Listening, and fearful of the storm Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear, Afraid to keep, or leave her form? Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Viewing the towering falcon nigh? She cuddles low behind the brake:

Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly. Then have you seen the beauteous maid; When gazing on her midnight foes, She turn'd each way her frighted head,

Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes. Venus this while was in the chamber

Incognito for Susan said,

It smelt so strong of myrrh and amber-
And Susan is no lying maid.

But, since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode:
With Cupid let us e'en proceed;

And thus to Cloe spoke the god :

"Hold up your head: hold up your hand;
Would it were not my lot to show ye
This cruel writ, wherein you stand
Indicted by the name of Cloe!
"For that, by secret malice stirr'd,
Or by an emulous pride invited,
You have purloin'd the favourite bird,
In which my mother most delighted."
Her blushing face the lovely maid

Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet; A rose-tree in a lily bed

Nor glows' so red, nor breathes so sweet, "Are ye not he whom virgins fear,

And widows court? is not your name Cupid? If so, pray come not near”— "Fair maiden, I'm the very same.' 66 Then what have I, good sir, to say, Or do with her you call your mother? If I should meet her in my way,

We hardly court'sy to each other. "Dianá chaste, and Hebe sweet, Witness that what I speak is true : I would not give my paroquet

For all the Doves that ever flew. "Yet, to compose this midnight noise,

Go freely search whore-e'er you please, (The rage, that rais'd, adorn'd her voice) Upon yon toilet lie my keys

Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks;

Through wardrobe and through closet bounces; Peeps into every chest and box;

Turns all her furbeloes and flounces.
But dove, depend on't, finds he none;
So to the bed returns again :
And now the maiden, bolder grown,
Begins to treat him with disdain.
"I marvel much," she smiling said,
"Your poultry cannot yet be found;
Lies he in yonder slipper dead?

Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd?"
"No, traitor," angry Love replies,
"He's hid somewhere about your breast;
A place nor god nor man denies,

For Venus's Dove the proper nest."

"Search, then," she said, " put in your hand, And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me: As guilty 1; or free, may stand,

Do thou or punish or reward me."

But ah? what maid to Love can trust!
He scorns, and breaks, all legal power:
Into her breast his hand he thrust;
And in a moment forc'd it lower.
"O, whither do those fingers rove,"

Cries Cloe," treacherous urchin, whither?” "O Venus! I shall find thy Dove," Says he ; "for sure I touch his feather."

A LOVER'S ANGER.

As Cloe came into the room t' other day,

I peevish began: Where so long could you stay? In your life-time you never regarded your hour; You promis'd at two; and (pray look child,) 'tiş

four.

A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels:
'Tis enough, that 'tis loaded with baubles and seals,
A temper so heedless no mortal can bear-"
Thus far I went on with a resolute air. [speak!"

"Lord bless me !" said she; "let a body but Here's an ugly hard rose-bud fallen into my neck: It has hurt me, and vext me to such a degreeSee here! for vou never believe me; pray see, On the left side my breast, what a mark it has made!"

So saying, her bosom she careless display'd:
That seat of delight I with wonder survey'd
And forgot every word I design'd to have said.

Come, kinsman," said the little god,
"Put off your wings, lay by your rod;
Retire with me to yonder bower,
And rest yourself for half an hour:
'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven;
But you fly fast: and 'tis but seven.
We'll take one cooling cup of nectar;
And drink to this celestial Hector.

"He break my darts! or hurt my power!
He, Leda's swan and Danaë's shower!
Go, bid him his wise tongue restrain,
And mind his thunder, and his rain.—
My darts! O certainly I'll give 'em :
From Cloe's eyes he shall receive 'em

There's one, the best in all my quiver,
Twang! through his very heart and liver;
He then shall pine, and sigh, and rave:
Good Lord! what bustle shall we have!
Neptune must straight be sent to sea,
And Flora summon'd twice a day:
One must find shells, and t' other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may be serv'd in state,
The Hours must at her toilet wait:
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too slow.
Lybs must fly south, and Eurus east,
For jewels for her hair and breast.
No matter, though their eruel haste
Sink cities, and lay forests waste.
No matter, though this fleet be lost;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coast.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care, that Juno should not hear!
What work among you scholar gods!
Phoebus must write him amorous odes,
And thou, poor cousin, must compose
His letters in submissive prose;
Whilst haughty Cloe, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows disdain,
And laugh at your old bully's pain."

"Dear couz," said Hermes, in a fright,

"For Heaven's sake! keep your darts! good night."

Here listening Cloe smil'd, and said:
"Your riddle is not hard to read:
I guess it."-" Fair one, if you do,
Need I, alas! the theme pursue?
For this, thou seest, for this I leave
Whate'er the world thinks wise or grave,
Ambition, business, friendship, news,
My useful books, and serious Muse.
For this, I willingly decline

The mirth of feasts, and joys of wine;
And choose to sit and talk with thee
(As thy great orders may decree)

Of cocks and bulls, and flutes and fiddles,
Of idle tales and foolish riddles."

THE QUESTION.

TO LISETTA.

WHAT nymph should I admire or trust,
But Cloe beauteous, Cloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make?
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake.
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, pr'ythee tell the rest.

ON BEAUTY.

A RIDDLE.

RESOLVE me, Cloe, what is this:
Or forfeit me one precious kiss.
'Tis the first offspring of the Graces;
Bears different forms in different places;
Acknowledg'd fine, where'er beheld;
Yet fancied finer, when conceal'd.
'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm;
Pandora's box of good and harm:
'Twas Mars's wish, Endymion's dream;
Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme.

This guided Theseus through the maze;
And sent him home with life and praise:
But this undid the Phrygian boy;
And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy.
This show'd great kindness to old Greece,
And help'd rich Jason to the fleece.

This through the East just vengeance hurl'd,
And lost poor Anthony the world.
Injur'd, though Lucrece found her doom,
This banish'd tyranny from Rome.
Appeas'd, though Lais gain'd her hire,
This set Persepolis on fire.
For this Alcides learn'd to spin:
His club laid down, and lion's skin.
For this Apollo deign'd to keep,
With servile care, a mortal's sheep.
For this the father of the gods,
Content to leave his high abodes,
In borrow'd figures loosely ran,
Europa's bull, and Leda's swan:
For this he re-assumes the nod,
(While Semele commands the god)
Launches the bolt, and shakes the poles:
Though Momus laughs, and Juno scolds.

LISETTA'S REPLY.

SURE Cloe just, and Cloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care:
But, when you and she today
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by;
Which way did you cast your eye?
But, when your cares to her you sing,
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring?
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares she bears a part? -
When you the flowers for Cloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meanest bud that falls from mine?
Simplest of swains! the world may see
Whom Cloe loves, and who loves me.

THE GARLAND.

THE pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe's hair.
At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.
The flowers she wore along the day:

And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bodi