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Behold again to her I bgw,
Devoted ever to remain

A virgin of her spotless train ;

Hear, Cynthia, and confirm my vow.

How happy are we,
How airy, how free,

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?
Then hear once more thy slighted sire,
And know, thy fatal vow draws down
The curse of Heaven, a father's frown,
And sure destruction waits thy scorn.

Feeble Cupid! vain deceiver!
What avails thy boasted quiver?
Where are all thy conquering arts?
They that fly thee
May defy thee;
They who fear thee,

And revere thee,

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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

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Your faithful swain.

No longer try me,

For ever fly me,

Despairing swain.

Yet hear me.

Forbear me.

Let sighs imploring,
And looks adoring,

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?
Go-with the rest despair.

APOLLO.

No, let the rest despair, while I
Distinguish'd, triumph in the joy.

Fair blooming creature!
Each tender feature
Speaks thee by nature
For love design'd.
'Then smile consenting,
Lost time repenting,
Let soft relenting

Now show thee kind.

DAPH.

APOLLO.

[Exit Daphne.

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Daphne, on Phoebus fix thy eye,

With meaner shapes deceiv'd no more!
Know, I thy beauteous form adore:

Wilt thou a god, a god that loves thee, fly?

[Apollo strikes his lyre, and Daphne turns back
as surprised at the sound.].

Fairest mortal! stay and hear,
Turn thee, leave thy trembling fear!
Cannot Love with Music join'd
Touch thy unrelenting mind?
Fairest mortal! stay and hear,
Turn thee, leave thy trembling fear.

Hark how the river-shores prolong

My soft complaints, and murmur to my song!
Thy father Peneus feels my pain;
See! how his osiers gently bow,
And seem my secret soul to know-
DAPH. [aside.] Alas! my rash, my fatal vow!
APOL. Wilt thou alone unmov'd remain?

[As Daphne is going out, she stops and sings
the following air,

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He comes the swift pursuer comes-O where
Shall I escape his piercing sight,

Where hide me from the god of light?
Ah! 'tis in vain-he's here.

[Daphne runs to the side of the river, and as
she sings the following air is transformed
into a laurel-tree.]

Father Peneus, hear me, aid me!
Let some sudden change invade me,
Fix me rooted on thy shore.

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,
Shall feed thee from his flowing urn
With verdure ever fresh and fair,

Nor this thy destin'd change shall mourn.

CHORUS, OR DUETTO OF APOLLO AND PENEUS,
Nature alone can love inspire,

Art is vain to move desire.
If Nature once the fair incline,
To their own passion they resign.
Nature alone can love inspire,

Art is vain to move desire.

CAMBRIA.

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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;
And, while promiscuous crowds in rapture gaze,
Ev'n tongues disloyal learn her praise,
And murmuring Envy sees her smile, and dies.

Happy morn such gifts bestowing!
Britain's joys from thee are flowing;
Ever thus auspicious shine!

Happy isle! such gifts possessing!
Britain, ever own the blessing!

Carolina's charms are thine.

Nor yet, O Fame, dost thou display

All the triumphs of this day;
More wonders yet arise to sight:

See! o'er these rites what mighty power presides,
Behold, to thee his early steps he guides;
What noble ardour does his soul excite!
Henceforth, when to the listening Universe
Thou number'st o'er my princes of renown,
The second hope of Britain's crown,

When my great Edward's deeds thou shalt rehearse,
And tell of Cressy's well-fought plain,

Thy golden trumpet sound again!
The brave Augustus shall renew thy strain,
And Oudenarda's fight immortalize the verse.

AIR, WITH A HARP.

Heavenly Muses! tune your lyres,
Far resounding;

Grace the hero's glorious name.
See! the song new life inspires!
Every breast, with joy abounding,
Seems to share the hero's flame.
FAME.

O thou, with every virtue orown'd,
Britannia's father, and her king renown'd!
Thus in thy offspring greatly blest,
While, through th' extended royal line,
Thou seest thy propagated lustre shine,
What secret raptures fill thy breast!
So smiles Apollo, doubly gay,
When, in the diamond, with full blaze,
He views his own paternal rays,
And all his bright reflected day.

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,
And, with thy trumpet's swelling sound,
To all Britannia's realms around,
The double festival proclaim.

FAME.

The goddess of immortal Fame

Shall, with her trumpet's swelling sound,
To all Britannia's realms around
The double festival proclaim.

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
FROM

MR. HUGHES TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR
COWPER.

"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,
and devoted humble servant,
J. HUGHES.

ODE

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LORD CHANCELLOR COWPER.
ANNO MDCCXVII.

IN ALLUSION TO HORACE, LIB. II. ode xx,

I'm rais'd, transported, chang'd all o'er!
Prepar'd, a towering swan, to soar
Aloft: see, see the down arise,

And clothe my back, and plume my thighs!
My wings shoot forth, now will I try
New tracks, and boldly mount the sky;
Nor Envy, nor Ill-fortune's spite,

Shall stop my course, or damp my flight.

Shall I, obscure or disesteem'd,

Of vulgar rank henceforth be deem'd?
Or vainly toil my name to save
From dark oblivion and the grave?
No-he can never wholly die,
Secure of immortality,

Whom Britain's Cowper condescends
To own, and numbers with his friends.

'Tis done-I scorn mean honours now;
No common wreath shall bind my brow.

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Whether the Muse vouchsafe t' inspire
My breast with the celestial fire;
Whether my verse be fill'd with flame,
Or I deserve a poet's name,
Let Fame be silent; only tell
That generous Cowper loves me well.
Through Britain's realms I shall be known
By Cowper's merit, not my own.
And when the tomb my dust shall hide,
Stripp'd of a mortal's little pride,
Vain pomp be spar'd, and every tear;
Let but some stone this sculpture bear:
"Here lies his clay, to earth consign'd,
To whom great Cowper once was kind."

WHAT IS MAN?

son of man! O creature of a day!
Proud of vain wisdom, with false greatness gay!
Heir of thy father's vice, to whose bad store
Thy guilty days are spent in adding more;
Thou propagated folly!-what in thee
Could Heaven's Supreme, could perfect Wisdom sec,
To fix one glance of his regarding eye?
Why art thou chose the favourite of the sky?
While angels wonder at the mercy known,
And scarce the wretch himself the debt immense
will own!

BOILEAU,

DANS SA I. EPISTRE AU ROY.

POURQUOI Ces elephans, ces armes, ce bagage,
Et ces vaisseaux tout prests à quitter le rivage?
Disoit au roi Pyrrhus, un sage confident,
Conseiller tres-sensé d'un roi tres-imprudent.
Je vais, lui dit ce prince, à Rome où l'on m'apelle.
Quoi faire? L'assieger. L'enterprise est fort belle,
Et digne seulement d' Alexandre ou de vous,
Mais quand nous l'aurons prise, eh bien, que ferons-
Du reste des Latins la conqueste est facile. [nous?
Sans doute, ils sont à nous: est-ce tout? La Sicile
Delà nous tend les bras, & bien-tost sans effort
Syracuse recoit nos vaisseaux dans son port.
En demeures-vous là? Dés que nous l'aurons prise,
Il ne faut qu'un bon vent & Carthage est conquise:
Les chemins sont ouverts: qui peut nous arrester?
Je vous entens, seigneur, nous allons tout dompter!
Nous allons traverser les sables de Lybie;
Asservir en passant l'Egypte, l'Arabie;
Courir delà le Gange en de nouveaux païs ;
Faire trembler le Scythe aux bords du Tanaïs ;
Et ranger sous nos loix tout ce vaste Hemisphere;
Mais de retour enfin, que pretendez-vous faire?
Alors, cher Cineas, victorieux, contens,
Nous pourrons rire à l'aise, & prendre du bon temps.
Hé, seigneur, dés ce jour, sans sortir de l'Epire,
Du matin jusqu'au soir qui vous défend de rire?

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."-
"And why not now? Alas! sir, need we roam
For this so far, or quit our native home?
No-let us now each valued hour employ,
Nor, for the future, lose the present joy,"

AN IMAGE OF PLEASURE,

IN IMITATION OF AN ODE IN CASIMIRE,

SOLACE of life, my sweet companion, Lyre!
On this fair poplar bough I'll hang thee high,
While the gay fields all soft delights inspire,
And not one cloud deforms the smiling sky.

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 ;
Where, taught by you, his lyre he strung,
And oft, like Philomel, in dusky glades,
Sweet amorous voluntaries sung!
O say, ye kind inspiring powers!
With what melodious strain
Will you indulge my pensive vein,
And charm my solitary hours?

Begin, and Echo shall the song repent ;
While, skreen'd from August's feverish heat,
Beneath this spreading elm I lie,
And view the yellow harvest far around,
The neighbouring fields with plenty crown'd,
And, over head, a fair unclouded sky.

The wood, the park's romantic scene,
The deer, that, innocent and gay,
On the soft turf's perpetual green
Pass all their lives in love and play,
Are various objects of delight,
That sport with fancy, and invite
Your aid, the pleasure to complete:
Begin-and Echo shall the song repeat.

Hark! the kind inspiring powers
Answer from their secret bowers,
Propitious to my call!

They join their choral voices all,
To charm my solitary hours.
"Listen," they cry, "thou pensive swain!
Though much the tuneful sisters love
The fields, the park, the shady grove:
The fields, and park, and shady grove,
The tuneful sisters now disdain,

And choose to soothe thee with a sweeter strain :
Molinda's praises shall our skill employ,
Molinda, Nature's pride, and every Muse's joy!
The Muses triumph'd at her birth,
When, first descending from her parent Skies,
This star of beauty shot to Earth.

Love saw the fires that darted from her eyes,
He saw, and smil'd-the winged boy
Gave early omens of her conquering fame,
And to his mother lisp'd her name,
"Molinda!"-Nature's pride, and every Muse's joy,
Say, beauteous Asted! has thy honour'd shade
Ever receiv'd that lovely maid?

Ye nymphs and Sylvan deities, confess
That shining festal day of happiness!
For if the lovely maid was here,
April himself, though in so fair a dress

He clothes the meads, though his delicious showert
Awake the blossoms and the breathing flowers,

And new-create the fragrant year;
April himself, or brighter May,
Assisted by the god of day,

Never made your grove so gay,
Or half so full of charms appear.
Whatever rural seat she now doth grace,
And shines a goddess of the plains,
Imperial Love new triumphs there ordains,
Removes with her from place to place,
With her he keeps his court, and where she liver
he reigns.

A thousand bright attendants more
Her glorious equipage compose:
There circling Pleasure ever flows:
Friendship, and Arts, a well-selected store,
Good-humour, Wit, and Music's soft delight,
The shorten'd minutes there beguile,
And sparkling Mirth, that never looks so bright,
As when it lightens in Molinda's smile.

Thither, ye guardian powers (if such there are,
Deputed from the sky

To watch o'er human-kind with friendly care),
Thither, ye gentle spirits, fly!

If goodness, like your own, can move
Your constant zeal, your tenderest love,

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