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"Poor soul!" he cries, "I doubt she grows sin-
cere ;

Her daughter is return'd to life, I fear."
Mindless of fame, I to the world reveal
The love so long I labour'd to conceal.
Thou, thou art fame, and all the world, to me;
All day I dote, and dream all night of thee:
Though Phaon fly to regions far remote,
By sleep his image to my bed is brought :
Around my neck thy fond embraces twine,
Anon I think my arms encircle thine:
Then the warm wishes of my soul I speak,
Which from my tongue in dying murmurs break:
Heavens! with thy balmy lips my lips are prest:
And then! ah then!-I blush to write the rest.
Thus in my dreams the bright ideas play,
And gild the glowing scenes of fancy gay:
With life alone my lingering love must end,
On thee my love, my life, my all, depend.

But at the dawning day my pleasures fleet,
And I (too soon!) perceive the dear deceit :
In caves and groves I seek to calm my grief;
The caves and groves afford me no relief.
Frantic I rove, disorder'd with despair,
And to the winds unbind my scatter'd hair.
I find the shades, which to our joys were kind,
But my false Phaon there no more I find :
With him the caves were cool, the grove was green,
But now his absence withers all the scene:
There weeping, I the grassy couch survey,
Where side by side we once together lay:
I fall where thy forsaken print appears,
And the kind turf imbibes my flowing tears.
The birds and trees to grief assistance bring,
These drop their leaves, and they forbear to sing:
Poor Philomel, of all the quire, alone
For mangled Itys warbles out her moan;

But, Phaon, why should I this toil endure,
When thy return would soon complete the cure?
Thy beauty, and its balmy power, would be
A Phoebus and Leucadian rock to me.
O harder than the rock to which I go,
And deafer than the waves that war below!
Think yet, oh think! shall future ages tell
That I to Phaon's scorn a victim fell!

Or hadst thou rather see this tender breast
Bruis'd on the clift, than close to Phaon's prest?
This breast, which, fill'd with bright poetic fire,
You made me once believe you did admire?
O could it now supply me with address

To plead my cause, and court thee with success!
But mighty woes my genius quite control,
And damp the rising vigour of my soul:
No more, ye Lesbian nymphs, desire a song,
Mute is my voice, my lute is all unstrung.
My Phaon's fled, who made my fancy shine,
(Ah! yet I scarce forbear to call him-mine.)
Phaon is filed! but bring the youth again,
Inspiring ardours will revive my vein.
But why, alas! this unavailing prayer?
Vain are my vows, and fleet with common air:
My vows the winds disperse, and make their sport,
But ne'er will waft him to the Lesbian port.

Yet if you purpose to return, 'tis wrong
To let your mistress languish here so long:
Venus for your fair voyage will compose
The sea, for from the sea the goddess rose:
Cupid, assisted with propitious gales,
Will hand the rudder, and direct the sails.
But, if relentless to my prayer you prove,
If still, unkind without a cause, you'll rove,
And ne'er to Sappho's longing eyes restore
That object, which her hourly vows implore;
"Twill be compassion now t' avow your hate;

Her moan for him trills sweetly through the grove, Write, and confirm the rigour of my fate!

While Sappho sings of ill-requited love.

To this dear solitude the Naïads bring
Their fruitful urns, to form a silver spring:
The trees, that on the shady margin grow,
Are green above, the banks are green below:
Here, while by sorrow lull'd ask.ep Ilay,
Thus said the guardian nymph, or seem'd to say:
"Fly, Sappho, fly! to cure this deep despair,
To the Leucadian rock in haste repair;
High on whose hoary top an awful fane,
To Phœbus rear'd, surveys the subject main.
This desperate cure, of old, Deucalion try'd,
For love to fury wrought by Pyrrha's pride;
Into the waves, as holy rites require,

Headlong he leap'd, and quench'd his hopeless
fire:

Her frozen breast a sudd n flame subdued,

And she who fled the youth, the youth pursued.
Like him, to give thy raging passion ease,
Precipitate thyself into the seas."

This said, she disappear'd. I, deadly wan,
Rose up, and gushing tears unbounded ran:
"I fly, ye nymphs, I fly! though fear assail
The woman, yet the lover Lust prevail.

In death what terrours can deserve my care?
The pangs of death are gentler than despair.
Ye winds, and, Cupid, thou, to meet my fall,
Your downy pinions spread my weight is stall.”
Thus rescued, to the god of verse I'll bow,
Hang up my lute, and thus inscribe my vow :
"To Phoebus grateful Sappho gave this lute;
The gift did both the god and giver suit."

Then, steel'd with resolution by despair,
For cure I'll to the kinder seas repair:
That last relief for love-sick minds I'll try;
Phoebus may grant what Phaon could deny.

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What can I more than wish? for who can free
The wretched from the woe the gods decree?
With generous pity I'll repay your flame;
Pity! 'tis what deserves a softer name:
Which yet, I fear, of equal use would prove
To soothe a tempest, as abate your love.

How can my art your fierce disease subdue?
I want, alas! a greater cure than you:
Benumb'd in death the cold physician lies,
While for his help the feverish patient cries:
Call me not cruel, but reproach my fate,
And, listening while my woes I here relate,
Let your soft bosom heave with tender sighs,
Let melting sorrow languish in your eyes;
Pitcous deplore a wretch constrain'd to rove,
Whose crime and punishment is slighted love;
Fix'd for his guilt, to every coming age,
A monument of Cytherea's rage.

At Malea born, my race unknown to fame,
With oars I ply'd; Colymbus was my name;
A name that from the diving birds I bore,
Which seek their fishy food along the shore.
One summer eve in port I left my sail,
And with my partners sought a neighbouring vale;
What time the rural nymphs repair'd to pay
Their floral honours to the queen of May.
At first their various charms my choice confuse,
For what is choice where each is fit to choose?
But Love or Fate at length my bosom fir'd
With a bright maid in myrtle-green attir'd;
A shepherdess she was, and on the lawn
Sate to the setting Sun from dewy dawn;
Yet fairer than the nymphs who guard the streams
In pearly caves, and shun the burning beams.
I whisper love; she flies; I still pursue,
To press her to the joy she never knew:
And while I speak the virgin blushes spread
Her damask beauty with a warmer red.
I vow'd unshaken faith, invoking loud
Venus, t'attest the solemn faith I vow'd;
Invoking all the radiant lights above,

(But most the lamp, that lights the realm of love)
No more to guide me with their friendly rays,
But leave my ship to perish on the seas,
If the dear charmer ever chanc'd to find
My heart disloyal, or my look unkind.

A maid will listen when her lover swears,
And think his faith more real than her fears.
The careful shepherdess secur'd her flocks
From the devouring wolf, and wily fox,
Yet fell herself an undefended prey
To one more cruel and more false than they.
The nuptial joys we there consummate soon,
Safe in the friendly silence of the Moon;
And till the birds proclaim'd the dawning day,
Beneath a shade of flowers, in transport lay:
I rose, and, softly sighing, view'd her o'er;
How chang'd, I thought, from what she was before!
Yet still repeated (eager to be gone)
My former pledges, with a fainter tone,
And promis'd quick return: the pensive fair
Went with reluctance to her fleecy care;
While I resolv'd to quit my native shore,
Never to see the late lov'd Malea mere.

Fresh on the waves the inorning breezes play, To bear my vessel and my vows away; With prosperous speed I fly before the wind, And leave the length of Lesbos all behind: Far distant from my Malean love at last, (Secure with twenty leagues between us cast)

I furl my sails, and on the Sigrian shore,
Adopting that my seat, the vessel moor.
Sigrium, from whose aerial height I spy
The distant fields that bore imperial Troy:
Which, still accurs'd for Helen's broken vow,
Procure thin crops, ungrateful to the plough.
I gaze, revolving in my guilty mind,
What future vengeance will my falsehood find,
When kings and empires no forgiveness gain'd
For violated rites, and faith prophan'd?

Sea-faring on that coast I led my life,

A commoner of love, without a wife,
Content with casual joys; and vainly thought
Venus forgave the perjur'd, or forgot.
And now my sixtieth year began to shed
An undistinguish'd winter o'er my head;
When, bent for Tenedos, a country dame
(I thought her such) for speedy passage came
A palsy shook her limbs; a shrivel❜d skin
But ill conceal'd the skeleton within;
A monument of time: with equal grace
Her garb had poverty to suit her face.
Extorting first my price, I spread my sail,
And steer my course before a merry gale;
Which haply turn'd her tatter'd veil aside,
When in her lap a golden vase I spy'd ;
Around so rich with orient gems enchas'd,
A flamy lustre o'er the gold they cast.
With eager eyes I view the tempting bane,
And sailing now secure amid the main,
With felon force I seiz'd the seeming crone,
To plunge her in, and make the prize my own.
To Venus straight she chang'd divine to view !
The laughing Loves around their mother flew:
Who, circled with a pomp of Graces, stood,
Such as she first ascended from the flood.

I bow'd, ador'd.-With terrour in her voice,
"Thy violence," (she cry'd,)" shall win the prize!
Renew thy wrinkled form, be young and fair;
But soon thy heart shall own the purchase dear.
Nor is revenge forgot, though long delay'd,
For vows attested in the Malean shade."
Wrapt in a purple cloud, she cut the skies,
And, looking down, still threaten'd with her eyes.
My fear at length dispell'd, (the sight of gold
Can make an avaricious coward bold)

I seiz'd the glittering spoil, in hope to find
A case so rich with richer treasures lin❜d.
The lid remov'd, the vacant space enclos'd
An essence, with celestial art compos'd;

Which cures old age, and makes the shrivel'd cheek
Blushy as Bacchus, and as Hebe sleek:
Strength to the nerves the nectar'd sweets supply,
And eagle-radiance to the faded eye.

Nor sharp disease, nor want, nor age, have power
T' invade that vigour, and that bloom deflower.

Th' effect I found, for, when return'd to land, Some drops I sprinkled on my sun-burnt hand; Where'er they fell, surprising to the sight, The freckled brown imbib'd a milky white; So look the panther's varied sides; and so The pheasant's wing, bedropt with flakes of snow. I wet the whole, the same celestial huc Tinctur'd the whole meander'd o'er with blue. Struck with amazement here, I pause a space ; Next with the liquid sweets anoint my face: My neck and hoary locks I then bedew, And in the waves my changing visage view. Straight with my charins the watry mirror glows Those fatal charms that ruin'd your repose!

Still doubting, up I start, and fear to find
Some young Adonis gazing o'er behind.
My waist, and all my limbs, I last besmear'd,
And soon a glossy youth all o'er appcar'd.

Long wrapt in silent wonder, on the strand,
I like a statue of Apollo stand:

Like his, with oval grace my front is spread;
Like his, my lips and cheeks are rosy red;
Like his, my limbs are shap'd; in every part
So just, they mock the sculptor's mimic art:
And golden curls adown my shoulders flow;
Nor wants there aught, except the lyre and bow.
Restor'd to youth, triumphant I repair
To court; to captivate th' admiring fair:
My faultless form the Lesbian nymphs adore,
Avow their flames, weep, sigh, protest, implore.
There feel I first the penance of my sin;
All spring without, and winter all within!
From me the sense of gay desire is fled,
And all their charms are cordial to the dead,
Or, if within my breast there chance to rise
The sweet remembrance of the genial joys;
Sudden it leaves me, like a transient gleam,
That gilds the surface of a freezing stream.
Meantime with various pangs my heart is torn,
Hate strives with Pity, Shame contends with Scorn :
Confus'd with grief, I quit the court, to range
In savage wilds; and curse my penal change.
The phenix so restor'd with rich perfumes,
Displays the florid pride of all his plumes;
Then flies to live amid th' Arabian grove,
In barren solitude, a foe to love.

But in the calm recess of woods and plains,
The viper Envy revell'd in my veins;
And ever, when the male caress'd his bride,
Sighing with rage, 1 turn'd my eyes aside.
In river, mead, and grove, such objects rose,
T'avenge the goddess, and awake my woes :
Fish, beast, and bird, in river, mead, and grove,
Bless'd and rever'd the blissful powers of Love.

"What can I do for case? O, whither fly?
Resume my fatal form, ye gods," I cry:
"Wither this beauteous bloom, so tempting
gay;

And let me live transform'd to weak, and gray!"
By change of clime, my sorrows to beguile,
-I leave, for Sicily, my native isle;

Vain hope! for who can leave himself behind,
And live a thoughtless exile from the mind?
Arriving there, amidst a flowery plain
That join'd the shore, I view'd a virgin-train.
Who in soft ditties sung of Acis' flame,

And strew'd with annual wreaths his amber stream.
Me soon they saw, and, fir'd with pious joy,

He comes, the godlike Acis comes," they cry: "Fair pride of Neptune's court! indulge our prayer;

Approach, you've now no Polypheme to fear.
Accept our rites: to bind thy brow, we bring
These earliest honours of the rosy Spring:
So may thy Galatea still be kind,

As we thy smiling power propitious find!
But if" (they read their errour in my blush;
For shame, and rage, and scorn, alternate flush.)
"But if of earthy race, yet kinder prove;
Refuse all other rites but those of love."
That hated word new-stabs my rankling wound;
Like a stuck deer I startle at the sound:
Thence to the woods with furious speed repair,
And leave them all abandon'd to despair.

So, frighted by the swains, to reach the brake, Glides from a sunny bank the glittering snake; And whilst, reviv'd in youth, his wavy train Floats in large spires, and burns along the plain; He darts malignance from his scornful eye, And the young flowers with livid hisses die.

Let my sad fate your soft compassion move, Convine'd that Phaon would, but cannot, love: To torture and distract my soul, are join'd Unfading youth, and impotence of mind. The white and red that flatter on my skin, Hide hell; the grinning furies howl within; Pride, Envy, Rage, and Hate, inhabit there, And the black child of Guilt, extreme Despair: Nor of less terrour to the perjur'd prove The frowns of Venus, than the bolts of Jove.

When Orpheus in the woods began to play,
Sooth'd with his airs, the leopards round him lay;
Their glaring eyes with lessen'd fury burn'd;
But when the lyre was mute, their rage return'd:
So would thy Muse and lute a while control
My woes, and tune the discord of my soul:
In sweet suspence each savage thought restrain'd{
And then, the love I never felt I feign'd.
O Sappho, now that Muse and lute employ;
Invoke the golden goddess from the sky:
From the Leucadian rock ne'er hope redress,
In love, Apollo boasts no sure success :
Let him preside o'er oracles and arts;
Venus alone hath balm for bleeding hearts.
O, let the warbled hymn' delight her ear;
Can she, when Sappho sings, refuse to hear?
Thrice let the warbled hymn repeat thy pain,
While flowers and burning gums perfume her fane.
And when, descending to the plaintive sound,
She comes confess'd with all her Graces round,
O, plead my cause! in that auspicious hour,
Propitiate with thy vows the vengeful power.
Nor cease thy suit, till with a smiling air
She cries" I give my Phaon to thy prayer;
And, from his crime absolv'd, with all his charms
He long shall live, and die in Sappho's arms."
Then swift, and gentle as her gentlest dove,
I'll seek thy breast, and equal all thy love:
Hymen shall clap his purple wings, and spread
Incessant raptures o'er the nuptial bed.
And while in pomp at Cytherea's shrine,
With choral song and dance, our vows we join;
Her flaming altar with religious fear

I'll touch, and, prostrate on the marble, swear
That zeal and love for ever shall divide
My heart, between the goddess and the bride.

A TALE,

DEVISED IN THE PLESAUNT MANERE OS
GENTIL MAISTER JEOFFREY CHAUCER.

WHYLOM in Kent there dwelt a clerks,
Who wyth grete cheer, and litil werke,
Upswalen was with venere:

For meagre Lent ne recked he,
Ne sainets daies had in remembraunce,
Mo will had he to daliaunce.
To serchen out a bellamie,
He had a sharp and licorous eie;
But it wold bett abide a leke,
Or onion, than the sight of Greke;

・ ・ Alluding to her ode to Venus

Wherefore, God yeve him shame, Boccace
Serv'd him for Basil and Ignace,
His vermeil cheke that shon wyth mirth,
Spake him the blithest priest on yearth;
At chyrch, to show his lillied hond,
Full fetously he prank'd his bond;
Sleke weren his flaxen locks ykempt,
And Isaac Wever was he nempt.

Thilke clerke, echaufed in the groyne,
For a young damosell did pyne,
Born in East-Cheap; who, by my fay,
Ypert was as a popinjay:

Ne wit ne wordes did she waunt,
Wele cond she many a romaunt;
Ore muscadine, or spiced ale,
She carrold soote as nightingale :

And for the nonce couth rowle her cyne,
Withouten speche; a speciall signe
She lack'd somdele of what ech dame
Holds dere as life, yet dredes to name:
So was eftsoons by Isaac won,
To blissful consummation.

Here mought I now tellen the festes,

Who yave the bryde, how bibb'd the ghestes;
But withouten such gawdes, I trow
Myne legend is prolix ynow.
Ryghte wele areeds Dan Prior's song,
A tale shold never be too long;
And sikerly in fayre Englond
None bett doeth taling understond.

She now, algates full sad to chaunge
The citee for her husbond's graunge,
To Kent mote; for she wele did knowe
"Twas vaine ayenst the streme to rowe.
Sa wend they on one steed yfere,
Each cleping toder life and dere;
Heven shilde hem fro myne Bromley host,
Or many a groat theyr meel woll cost.

Deem next ye maistress Wever sene
Yclad in sable bombasine;
The frankeleins wyves accost her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of tythe;
And yeve honour parochiall
In pew, and eke at festivall.
Worschip and wealth her husbond hath;
Ne poor in aught, save werks and faith:
Keeps bull, bore, stallion, to dispense
Large pennorths of benevolence.
His berne ycrammed was, and store
Of poultrie cackled at the dore;
His wyfe grete joie to fede hem toke,
And was astonied at the cocke;
That, in his portance debonair,
On everich henn bestow'd a share
Of pleasaunce, yet no genitours
She saw, to thrill his paramours:
Oftsithes she mokel mus'd theron,
Yet nist she howgates it was don.
One night, ere they to sleepen went,
Her Isaac in her arms she hent,
As was her usage;' and did saie,
"Of charite I mote thee praie,
To teachen myne unconnyng wit
One thing it comprehendeth niet:
And maie the foul fiend harrow thee,
If in myne quest thou falsen me.

"Our Chaunticlere loves everich hen,
Ne fewer kepes our yerd than ten;
Yet romps he ore beth grete and small,
e ken I what he swinks wythall.

But on ech leg a wepon is,
Ypersent, and full starke I wys;
Doth he with hem at Pertelote play?
In sooth theres werk inough for tway."

Qd. Isaac," Certes by Sainct Poule,
Myne lief thou art a simple soule;
Foules fro the egle to the wren,
Bin harness'd othergise than men :
For the males engins of delite
Ferre in theyr entrails are empight;
Fls, par mischaunce, theyr merriment
Emong the breers mought sore be shent,
Thus woxen hote, they much avaunce
Love of venereal jouisaunce:

And in one month, the trouth to sayne, Swink mo than manhode in yeres twaine." "O Benedicite!" qd. she,

"If kepyng hote so kindlych be,

Hie in thyne bowcles truss thyne gere,
And eke the skrippe that daungleth here."
"Ne dame," he answer'd, "mote that bene;
For as I hope to be a dene,

Thilke Falstaffe-bellie rownd and big,
Was built for corny ale and pig:

Ne in it is a chink for these,

Ne for a wheat-straw, and tway pease." "Pardie," qd. she, "syth theres nat room, Swete Nykin! chafe hem in myne woom."

TO MR. POPE.

IN IMITATION OF A GREEK EPIGRAM IN HOMER.

IN WHICH THE POET SUPPOSETH APOLLO TO HAVE GIVEN THIS ANSWER TO ONE WHO INQUIRED who WAS THE AUTHOR OF THE ILIAD.

Ηειδον μέν Ἐγὼν, ἐχάρασσε δὲ θεῖος Όμηρος.

Hæc modulabar ego, scripsit divinus Homerus. WHEN

HEN Phoebus, and the nine harmonious Maids, Of old assembled in the Thespian shades, "What theme," they cry'd, "what high im

mortal air,

Befits these harps to sound, and thee to hear?""
Reply'd the god, "Your loftiest notes employ
To sing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy."
The wondrous song with rapture they rehearse,
Then ask who wrought that miracle of verse.
He answer'd with a frown: "I now reveal
A truth that Envy bids me not conceal.
Retiring frequent to his laureat vale,
I warbled to the lyre that favourite tale,
Which, unobserv'd, a wandering Greek and blind,
Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind;
And, fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praise,
From me the god of wit usurp'd the bays.

"But let vain Greece indulge her growing
fame,

Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name;
Yet when my arts shall triumph in the west,
And the White Isle with female power is blest,
Fame, I foresee, will make reprisals there,
And the translator's palm to me transfer;
With less regret my claim I now decline,
The world will think this English Iliad mine."

THE PLATONIC SPELL'. "WHENE'ER I wed," young Strephon cry'd, "Ye powers that o'er the noose preside, Wit, beauty, wealth, good-humour give, Or let me still a rover live:

But if all these no nymph can share,
Let mine, ye powers! be doubly fair."

Thus pray'd the swain in heat of blood,
Whilst nigh celestial Cupid stood;
And, tapping him, said," Youth, be wise,
And let a child for once advise.
A faultless make, a manag'd wit,
Humour and riches, rarely meet:
But if a beauty you 'd obtain,

Court some bright Phillis of the brain;
The dear idea long enjoy,

Clean is the bliss, and ne'er will cloy.
"But trust me, youth, for I'm sincere,
And know the ladies to a hair;
Howe'er small poets whine upon it,
In madrigal, in song, and sonnet,
Their beauty's but a spell, to bring
A lover to th' enchanted ring.
Ere the sack-posset is digested,
Or half of Hymen's taper wasted,
The winning air, the wanton trip,
The radiant eye, the velvet lip,
From which you fragrant kisses stole,
And seem'd to suck her springing soul;
These, and the rest you doated on,
Are nauseous, or insipid grown;
The spell dissolves, the cloud is gone,
And Sacharissa turns to Joan."

MARULLUS TO NEÆRA.

IMITATED.

ROB'D like Diana, ready for the chase,
Her mind as spotless, and as fair her face,
Young Sylvia stray'd beneath the dewy dawn,
To course th' imperial stag o'er Windsor lawn.
There Cupid view'd her spreading o'er the plain,
The first and fairest of the rural train :
And, by a small mistake, the power of love,
Thought her the virgin-goddess of the grove:
Soon aw'd with innocence, t' evade her sight,
He fled, and dropp'd his quiver in the flight:
Tho' pleas'd, she blush'd, and, with a glowing smile,
Pursu'd the god, and seiz'd the golden spoil.

The nymph, resistless in her native charms,
Now reigns, possess'd of Cupid's dreaded arms;
And, wing'd with lightning from her radiant eyes,
Unerring in its speed each arrow flies.
No more his deity is held divine,

No more we kneel at Cytherea's shrine;
Their various powers, complete in Sylvin, prove
Her title to command the realins of Love.

KISSES.

TRANSLATED FROM SECUNDUS,

BASIUM I.

WHEN Venus, in the sweet Idalian shade,
A violet couch for young Ascanius made,

This poem, with some variations, may be found in Stepney, vol. vII. under the title of The Spell.

Their opening gems th' obedient roses bow'd,'
And veil'd his beauties with a damask cloud:
While the bright goddess, with a gentle shower
Of nectar'd dews, perfum'd the blissful bower.

Of sight insatiate, she devours his charms,
Till her soft breast rekindling ardour warms;
New joys tumultuous in her bosom roll,
And all Adonis rusheth on her soul:
Transported with each dear resembling grace,
She cries, "Adonis! -sure I see thy face!"
Then stoops to clasp the beauteous form, but fears
He'd wake too soon, and with a sigh forbears;
Yet, fix'd in silent rapture, stands to gaze,
Kissing each flowering bud that round her plays:
Swell'd with her touch, each animated rose
Expands, and straight with warmer purple glows;
Where infant kisses bloom, a balmy store!
Redoubling all the bliss she felt before.

Sudden her swans career along the skies,
And o'er the globe the fair celestial flies;
Then, as where Ceres past, the teeming plain
Yellow'd with wavy crops of golden grain,
So fruitful kisses fell where Venus flew,
And by the power of genial magic grew;

A plenteous harvest! which she deign'd t' impart,
To soothe an agonizing love-sick heart.

All hail, ye roseate Kisses! who remove Our cares, and cool the calentures of love. Lo! I your poet, in melodious lays,

Bless your kind power, enamour'd of your praise; Lays! form'd to last, till barbarous Time invades The Muses' hill, and withers all their shades. Sprung from the guardian of the Roman name', 11 Roman numbers live, secure of fame.

BASIUM II.

As the young enamour'd Vine
Round her Elm delights to twine,
As the clasping Ivy throws

Round her Oak her wanton boughs,
So close, expanding all thy charms,
Fold me, my Chloris, in thy arms
Closer, my Chloris, could it be,
Would my fond arms encircle thee.

The jovial friend shall tempt, in vain,
With humour, wit, and brisk champaigne ;
We'll Love's eternal vigils keep
In vain shall Nature call for sleep,
Thus, thus for ever let us lie,
Dissolving in excess of joy,
Till Fate shall with a single dart
Transfix the pair it cannot part.

Thus join'd, we'll fleet like Venus' doves, And seek the blest Elysian groves; Where Spring in rosy triumph reigns Perpetual o'er the joyous plains: There, lovers of heroic name Revive their long-extinguish'd flame, And o'er the fragrant vale advance, In shining pomp, to form the dance, Or sing of love and gay desire, Responsive to the warbling lyre; Reclining soft in blissful bowers, Purpled sweet with springing flowers; And cover'd with a silken shade, Of laurel mix'd with myrtle made:

1 Venus.

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