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To the grove, or the garden, he ftrays,
And pillages every fweet;
Then fuiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at PHYLLIS's feet.

"O PHYLLIS," he whispers,

66 more fair, "More fweet than the jeffamine's flower! "What are pinks in a morn to compare? "What is eglantine after a show'r?

"Then the lily no longer is white;

"Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom, "Then the violets die with despight, "And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the foft numbers along,

And he fancies no fhepherd his peer;
-Yet I never fhould envy the fong,
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 fhine not in PHYLLIS's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart,
Is a ftranger to PARIDEL's tongue;
-Yet may fhe beware of his art,
Or fure I muft envy the fong.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

YE fhepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my fheep:
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 paffion begun ;
She fmil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought:
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph fo complete would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire:
It banishes wifdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever.adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithlefs, and I am undone;

Yet that witnefs the woes I endure;
Let reafon inftruct you to fhun

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

Amid nymphs of an higher degree : It is not for me 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 fhrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me. The fweets of a dew-fprinkled rofe, The found of a murmuring ftream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be CORYDON's theme. High tranfports are shown to the fight, But we are not to find them our own; Fate never beftow'd fuch delight, As I with my PHYLLIS had known. O ye woods, fpread your branches apace; To your deepest receffes I fly;

I would hide with the beafts of the chace; I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed fhall refound through the grove
With the fame fad complaint it begun ;
How the fmil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithlefs, and I am undone.

THE SUN.

BUT yonder comes the pow'rful king of day,
Rejoicing in the eaft. The leffening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all,
Aflant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air,
He looks in boundless majesty abroad;

And sheds the fhining day, that burnish'd plays
On rocks, and hills, and tow'rs, and wand'ring
ftreams,

High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer light!
Of all material beings firft, and beft!

Efflux divine! Nature's refplendent robe!
Without whofe vefting beauty all were wrapt
In uneffential gloom; and thou, O SUN!
Soul of furrounding 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 fyftem rolls entire; from the far bourne
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round
Of thirty years; to Mercury, whose disk
Can fcarce be caught by philofophic eye,
Loft in the near effulgence of thy blaze.
Informer of the planetary train!

Without whofe quick'ning glance their cumbrous

orbs

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

By thee fublim'd, down to the daily race,
The mixing myriads of thy fetting beam.
The vegetable world is alfo thine,
Parent of feafons! who the pomp precede
That waits thy throne, as thro' thy vast domain,
Annual, along the bright ecliptic road,
In world-rejoicing ftate it moves fublime.
Meantime th' expecting nations, circled gay
With all the various tribes of foodful earth,
Implore thy bounty, or fend grateful up

A common hymn: while, round thy beaming car,
High-feen, the feasons lead, in fprightly dance
Harmonious knit, the rofy-finger'd hours,
The zephyrs floating loofe, the timely rains,
Of bloom ethereal the light-footed dews,
And foften'd into joy the furly ftorms.
Thefe, 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 flufh'd the vernal year.
Nor to the furface of the enliven'd earth,
Graceful with hills, and dales, and leafy woods,
Her lib'ral treffes, is thy force confin'd:
But, to the bowel'd cavern darting deep,
The min'ral kinds confefs thy mighty pow'r.
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble fhines;

Hence labour draws his tools: hence burnish'd war
Gleams on the day; the nobler works of peace
Hence blefs 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 pureft rays,
Collected light, compact; that, polish'd bright,
And all its native luftre let abroad,

Dares, as it fparkles on the fair one's breast,
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 fapphire, folid ether, takes
Its hue cerulean; and, of ev'ning tinct,
The purple-ftreaming amethyst is thine.
With thy own fmile the yellow topaz burns.
Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of spring,
When firft fhe gives it to the fouthern gale,
Than the green em'rald fhows. But, all combin'd,
Thick thro' the whitening opal play thy beams;
Or, flying feveral from its furface, form
A trembling variance of revolving hues,
As the fite 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 defert joys
Wildly, thro' all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter; and the briny deep,
Seen from fome pointed promontory's top,
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Reftlefs, reflects a floating gleam. But this,
And all the much-tranfported Mufe can fing,
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and ufe,
Unequal far; great delegated fource
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below!

EPITAPH

TO THE MEMORY OF A FAITHFUL SLAVE

HERE a poor fable son of woe
Doth from oppreffion reft,

Whom VIRTUE, in this world made free,
And now, in heav'n, makes bleft.

When the laft trump' fhall mortals raife,

The choir of heav'n to join,

Many a nabob then will with

For INNOCENCE like thine.

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