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To the grove, or the garden, he strays,

And pillages every Tweet;
Then suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at PHYLLIS's feet. “ O PHYLLIS,” he whispers,

more fair, “ More sweet than the jesfamine’s flower! “ What are pinks in a morn to compare?

" What is eglantine after a low'r? “ Then the lily no longer is white;

“ Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom, “ Then the violets die with despight,

“ And the woodbines give up their perfume.” Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer; --Yet I never should envy the song,

Were not PHYLLIS to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound;

SO Phyllis the trophy despise :
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart,

Is a stranger to PARIDEL's tongue; - Yet may The beware of his art, Or sure I must envy the fong.

DISAPPOINTMENT. YE shepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to stray ;

I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my passion begun; She smil'd-and I could not but love;

She is faithlefs-and I am undone.

1

Perhaps I was void of all thought :

Perhaps it was plain to forelee,
That a nymph fo complete would be fought

By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire :

It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever,adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Yet that witness the woes I endure; Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree : It is not för ine to explain

How fair, and how fickle, they be. Alas! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me. The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The found of a murmuring stream, The peace which from folitude flows,

Henceforth shall be corY DON's theme. High transports are shown to the fight,

But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never befiow'd such delight,

As I with my PHYLLIS had known.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace ;

To your deepeft recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace;

I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my

reed Mall resound through the grove With the same fad complaint it begun ; How she smil'd, and I could not but love;

Was faithless, and I am undone.

THE SUN.
BUT yonder comes the pow'rful king of day,

Rejoicing in the eaft. The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illum’d with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all,
Alant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air,
He looks in boundless majesty abroad;
And sheds the thining day, that burnish'd plays
On rocks, and hills, and tow’rs, and wand'ring

streams,
High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer light !
Of all material beings first, and best!
Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe !
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt
In unessential gloom; and thou, O SUN!
Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen
Shines out thy Maker! may I fing of thee ?

'Tis by thy fecret, strong, attractive force,
As with a chain indiffoluble bound,
Thy system rolls entire; from the far bourne
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round
Of thirty years; to Mercury, whose disk
Can scarce be caught by philofophic eye,
Loft in the near etfulgence of thy blaze.

Informer of the planetary train !
Without whose quick’ning glance their cumbrous

orbs
Were brute unlovely mass, inert and dead,
And not, as now, the green abodes of life!
How many forms of being wait on thee !
Inhaling spirit; from th' unfetter'd mind,

By thee sublim'd, down to the daily race,
The mixing myriads of thy setting beam.

The vegetable world is also thine,
Parent of seasons! who the

pomp precede That waits thy throne, as thro' thy vast domain, Annual, along the bright ecliptic road, In world-rejoicing state it moves sublime. Meantime th' expecting nations, circled gay With all the various tribes of foodful earth, Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up A common hymn: while, round thy beaming car, High-seen, the seasons lead, in sprightly dance Harmonious knit, the rosy-finger'd hours, The zephyrs floating loose, the timely rains, Of bloom ethereal the light-footed dews, And soften’d into joy the furly storms. These, in fucceffive turn, with lavish hand, Show'r ev'ry beauty, ev'ry fragrance show'r, Herbs, flow'rs, and fruits; till, kindling at thy touch, From land to land is flush'd the vernal year.

Nor to the surface of the enliven'd earth,
Graceful with hills, and dales, and leafy woods,
Her lib'ral tresses, is thy force confin'd:
But, to the boweld cavern darting deep,
The min'ral kinds confess thy mighty pow'r.
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines;
Hence labour draws his tools: hence burnish'd war
Gleams on the day, the nobler works of peace
Hence bless mankind, and gen'rous commerce binds
The round of nations in a golden chain.

Th’unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee,
In dark retirement forms the lucid stone.
The lively di’mond drinks thy purest rays,
Collected light, compact; that, polish'd bright,
And all its native luftre let abroad,
Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breaft,
With vain ambition, emulate her eyes.
At thee the ruby lights its deep’ning glow,
And with a waving radiance inward flames.

From thee the sapphire, solid ether, takes
Its hue cerulean; and, of ev’ning tinct,
The purple-streaming amethyst is thine.
With thy own smile the yellow topaz burns.
Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of spring,
When first she gives it to the southern gale,
Than the green em'rald shows. But, all combin’d,
Thick thro' the whitening opal play thy beams;
Or, flying several from its furface, form
A trembling variance of revolving hues,
As the site varies in the gazer's hand.

The very dead creation, from thy touch
Affumes a mimic life. By thee refin’d,
In brighter mazes the relucent stream
Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt,
Projecting horror on the blacken'd flood,
Softens at thy return. The desert joys
Wildly, thro' all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter; and the briny deep,
Seen from some pointed promontory's top,
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this,
And all the much-transported Mufe can fing,
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use,
Unequal far; great delegated source
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below!

EPITAPH

TO THE MEMORY OF A FAITHFUL SLAVE

HERE a poor fable fon of woe

Doth from oppression reft,
Whom virtue, in this world made free,

And now, in heav'n, makes bleft.
When the last trump' fhall mortals raise,

The choir of heav'n to join, Many a nabob then will with

For INNOCENce like thine.

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