50 Behold again to her I bgw, A virgin of her spotless train ; Hear, Cynthia, and confirm my vow. How happy are we, That rove through the woods and the plains! In vain the blind boy Our hearts would decoy, We scorn all his joys and his pains. PENEUS. Rash maid, return——— What hast thou sworn? [Exit Daphne. With thee shall Peneus' race expire? Feeble Cupid! vain deceiver! And revere thee, Ever meet thy keenest darts. [Exit Peneus. APOL. SCENE CHANGES TO A FOREST. Apollo enters with his bow and arrows, as having newly stain the Python. APOLLO. O cease to fly me DAPH. [Aside Your faithful swain. No longer try me, For ever fly me, Despairing swain. Yet hear me. Forbear me. Let sighs imploring, Still speak my pain. Your sighs imploring, And looks adoring, But move disdain. No more these marks of triumph let me bear; But thus a shepherd's semblance wear, Till blest by thee I grow a god again. [Throws away his bow and arrows, and takes up a sheep-hook.] See-she appears; how wondrous fair! Hail, goddess of these verdant groves! DAPHNE. What art thou, or from whence? APOLLO. A swain that loves. DAPHNE. Thy unavailing courtship spare. Dost thou not daily hear the shepherds cry Why ever cruel, Daphne, why? APOLLO. No, let the rest despair, while I Fair blooming creature! Now show thee kind. DAPH. APOLLO. [Exit Daphne. Daphne, on Phoebus fix thy eye, With meaner shapes deceiv'd no more! Wilt thou a god, a god that loves thee, fly? [Apollo strikes his lyre, and Daphne turns back Fairest mortal! stay and hear, Hark how the river-shores prolong My soft complaints, and murmur to my song! [As Daphne is going out, she stops and sings He comes the swift pursuer comes-O where Where hide me from the god of light? [Daphne runs to the side of the river, and as Father Peneus, hear me, aid me! Cease, Apollo, to persuade me, I am Daphne now no more. [Apollo enters at the latter end of the air, and is met by Peneus.] APOLLO. O fatal flight!-O curst disdain! O Peneus, how shall we our loss deplore; But see! The trembling branches yet her shape retain! Though Daphne lives a nymph no more, She lives, fair verdant plant, in thee: Henceforth be thou Apollo's tree, And hear what honours to thy leaves remain No thunder e'er shall blast thy boughs, Preserv'd to grace Apollo's brows, Kings, victors, poets, to adorn; Oft in Britannia's isle thy prosperous green Shall on the heads of her great chiefs be seen, And by a Nassau, and a George, be worn. PENEUS. Still Peneus, with a father's care, Nor this thy destin'd change shall mourn. CHORUS, OR DUETTO OF APOLLO AND PENEUS, Art is vain to move desire. Art is vain to move desire. CAMBRIA. Hail, Cambria! long to Fame well known! Thy patron-saint looks smiling down, Well pleas'd to see This day, prolific of renown, Increas'd in honours to himself, and thee: See, Carolina's natal star arise, And with new beams adorn thy azure skies! Though on her virtues I should ever dwell, Fame cannot all her numerous virtues tell. Bright in herself, and in her offspring bright, On Britain's throne she casts diffusive light; Detraction from her presence flies; Happy morn such gifts bestowing! Happy isle! such gifts possessing! Carolina's charms are thine. Nor yet, O Fame, dost thou display All the triumphs of this day; See! o'er these rites what mighty power presides, When my great Edward's deeds thou shalt rehearse, Thy golden trumpet sound again! AIR, WITH A HARP. Heavenly Muses! tune your lyres, Grace the hero's glorious name. O thou, with every virtue orown'd, CAMBRIA. Hail, source of blessings to our isle! While gloomy clouds shall take their flight, Shot through by thy victorious light, Propitious ever on thy Britons smile! BOTH VOICES. To joy, to triumphs, dedicate the day. CAMBRIA. Rise, goddess of immortal Fame, FAME. The goddess of immortal Fame Shall, with her trumpet's swelling sound, BOTH VOICES. O'er Cambria's distant hills let the loud notes re bound! Each British soul be rais'd, and every eye be gay! To joy, to triumphs, dedicate the day. EXTRACT OF A LETTER MR. HUGHES TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR "Tus little poem was writ by the accident of having Horace for my companion in a confinement by sickness, and fancying had discovered a new sense of one of his odes, for which I have found your lordship's great indulgence and partiality to me, the best exposition. "Perhaps we never read with that attention, as when we think we have found something applicable to ourselves. I am now grown fond enough of this sense to believe it the true one, and have drawn two or three learned friends (to whom I have mentioned it) into my opinion. "The ode, your lordship will see, is that in which Horace feigns himself turned into a swan. It passes (for aught I know universally) for a compliment on himself, and a mere enthusiastic rant of the poet in his own praise, like his Exegi monumentum, &c. I confess, I had often slightly read it in that view, and have found every one I have lately asked, deceived by the same opinion, which I cannot but think spoils the ode, and sinks it to nothing; I had almost said, turns the swan into a goose. "The grammarians seem to have fallen into this mistake, by wholly overlooking the reason of his rapture, viz. its being addressed to Mæcenas; and have prefaced it with this, and the like general inscriptions-Vaticinatur carminum suorum immortalitatem, &c. which I think is not the subjert. "I am very happy in the occasion which showed it me in a quite different sense from what I had ever apprehended, till I had the honour to be known to your lordship; I am sure a much more advantageous one to the poet, as well as more just to his great patron. If I have exceeded the liberty of an imitator, in pursuing the same hint further, to make it less doubtful, yet his favourers will forgive me, when I own, I have not on this occasion so much thought of emulating his poetry, as of rivaling his pride, by the ambition of being known my lord, as, your lordship's most obliged, ODE TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE IN ALLUSION TO HORACE, LIB. II. ode xx, I'm rais'd, transported, chang'd all o'er! And clothe my back, and plume my thighs! Shall stop my course, or damp my flight. Shall I, obscure or disesteem'd, Of vulgar rank henceforth be deem'd? Whom Britain's Cowper condescends 'Tis done-I scorn mean honours now; Whether the Muse vouchsafe t' inspire WHAT IS MAN? son of man! O creature of a day! BOILEAU, DANS SA I. EPISTRE AU ROY. POURQUOI Ces elephans, ces armes, ce bagage, FROM BOILEAU, IN HIS FIRST EPISTLE TO LEWIS XIV. "WHAT mean these elephants, arms, warlike store, And all these ships, prepar'd to leave the shore Thus Cyneas, faithful, old, experienc'd, wise, Address'd king Pyrrhus ;-thus the king replies: ""Tis glory calls us hence; to Rome we go." "For what?"-" To conquer."—" Rome's a noble [foe, A prize for Alexander fit, or you: But, Rome reduc'd, what next, sir, will you do?" "The rest of Italy my chains shall wear.""And is that all?"-" No, Sicily lies near; See how she stretches out her beauteous arms, And tempts the victor with unguarded charms! In Syracusa's port this fleet shall ride.”— ""Tis well-and there you will at last abide ?"— "No; that subdu'd, again'we'll hoist our sails, And put to sea; and, blow but prosperous gales, Carthage must soon be ours, an easy prey, The passage open: what obstructs our way?""Then, sir, your vast design I understand, To conquer all the earth, cross seas and land, O'er Afric's spacious wilds your reign extend, Beneath your sword make proud Arabia bend; Then seek remoter worlds, where Ganges pours His swelling stream; beyond Hydaspes' shores, Through Indian realms to carry dire alarms, And make the hardy Scythian dread your arms. But say this wondrous race of glory run, When we return, say, what shall then be done ?""Then, pleas'd, my friend, we'll spend the joyful day In full delight, and laugh our cares away."- AN IMAGE OF PLEASURE, IN IMITATION OF AN ODE IN CASIMIRE, SOLACE of life, my sweet companion, Lyre! While whispering gales, that court the leaves and flowers, Play thro' thy strings, and gently make them sound, Luxurious Pil dissolve the flowing hours in balmy slumbers on the carpet ground. But see what sudden gloom obscures the air! What falling showers, impetuous, change the day! Let's rise, my Lyre-Ah, Pleasure, false as fair! How faithless are thy charms, how short thy stay! AN ODE IN THE PARK AT ASTED. YE.Muses, that frequent these walks and shades, The seat of calm repose, Which Howard's happy genius chose ; Begin, and Echo shall the song repent ; The wood, the park's romantic scene, Hark! the kind inspiring powers They join their choral voices all, And choose to soothe thee with a sweeter strain : Love saw the fires that darted from her eyes, Ye nymphs and Sylvan deities, confess He clothes the meads, though his delicious showert And new-create the fragrant year; Never made your grove so gay, A thousand bright attendants more Thither, ye guardian powers (if such there are, To watch o'er human-kind with friendly care), If goodness, like your own, can move |