Devouring time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
And marble tow'rs, and gates of brass,
In his rude march he levels low:
But time, destroying far and wide,
Love from the foul can ne'er divide.
Death only with his cruel dart

The gentle godhead can remove;
And drive him from the bleeding heart,
To mingle with the blefs'd above;
Where, known to all his kindred train,
He finds a lafting reft from pain.
Love, and his fifter fair, the foul,

Twin-born, from heaven together came : Love will the univerfe controul,

When dying feafons lofe their name; Divine abodes fhall own his pow'r, When time and death fhall be no more.

MY

§ 20. Song.

PARNELL.

Y days have been fo wondrous free,
The little birds that fly

With careless eafe from tree to tree
Were but as blefs'd as I.

Afk gliding waters if a tear

Of mine increas'd their ftream?
Or ask the flying gales, if c'er
I lent a figh to them?
But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught;
The tender chains of fweet defire

Are fix'd upon my thought.
An eager hope within my
breaft
Does every doubt controul;
And lovely Nancy stands confeft
The fav'rite of my foul.
Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines,
Ye fwains that haunt the grove,
Ye gentle echoes, breczy winds,
Ye clofe retreats of love!
With all of nature, all of art,
Aflift the dear defign;

O teach a young unpractis'd heart
To make her ever mine.

The very thought of change I hate

As much as of defpair;
Nor ever covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the paffion in my mind
Is mix'd with foft diftrefs!
Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it lefs.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rofy chaplets gay,
Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promis'd May.
Methinks I hear the maids déclare
The promis'd May, when feen,
Not half fo fragrant, half fo fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll roufe the nodding grove;
The nefted birds fhall raife their throats,
And hail the maid I love.
And fee-the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:

Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightfome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight Fairies rove,
Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love.

For fee, the rofy May draws nigh;

She claims a virgin Queen;
And hark, the happy fhepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen!

NOT

$22. Song.

JOHNSON.

the foft fighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,

The murmurs of the cryftal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.
Not all the gems on India's fhore,
Not all Peru's unbounded ftore;
Not all the pow'r, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve,
To form one with my foul can move.
Yet nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor feek I nature's charms in vain ;

In lovely Stella all combine,

And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.

Delia. A Paftoral.
THE gentle fwan, with graceful pride,
Her glaffy plumage laves,

And failing down the filver tide,
Divides the whispering waves:
The filver tide, that wandering flows,
Sweet to the bird must be !

But not fo fweet, blithe Cupid knows,

As Delia is to me.

The roles that my brow furround

Were natives of the dale;
Scarce pluck'd, and in a garland bound,
Before their fweets grew pale!

My vital bloom would thus be froze,
If lucklefs torn from thee!

For what the root is to the rose,

My Delia is to me.

Two doves I found, like new-fall'n fnow,
So white the beauteous pair;
The birds on Delia I'll bestow,
They're like her bosom fair!
When, in their chafte connubial love,
My fecret with fhe'll fee;

Such mutual blifs as turtles prove,
May Delia fhare with me!

§ 24. Song.

AKENSIDE.

THE shape alone let others prize,

The features of the fair!

I look for fpirit in her eyes,

And meaning in her air.

A damafk check, and iv'ry arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honour fhines,
Where fenfe and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines

The tenderness of love.

Thefe are the foul of beauty's frame,
Without whofe vital aid
Unfinith'd all her features feem,
And all her roles dead.

But, ah! where both their charms mite,
How perfect is the view,
With ev'ry image of delight,
With graces ever new!

Of pow'r to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage controul;.
Diffufing wildnefs o'er the brow,
And rapture through the foul.
Their pow'r but faintly to exprefs
All language must despair;
But go, behold Arpafia's face,
And read it perfect there.

$25. Song. On Young Olinda. WHEN innocence and beauty meet, To add to lovely female grace, Ah, how beyond expreffion fweet Is ev'ry feature of the face!

By virtue ripen'd from the bud,

The flow'r angelic odours breeds; The fragrant charms of being good Makes gaudy vice to finell like weeds. O facred Virtue! tune my voice

With thy infpiring harmony; Then I fhall fing of rapt rous joys, Which fill my foul with love of thee.

3

To lafting brightness be refin'd,
When this vain fhadow flies away;
Th'eternal beauties of the mind
Will last when all things elfe decay.

26. Song. From the Lapland Tr

THOU rifing fun, whofe gladfome ray
Invites my fair to rural play,
Difpel the mist, and clear the fkies,
And bring my Orra to my eyes.

O were I fure my dear to view,

I'd climb that pine-tree's topaoft bough
Aloft in air that quiv'ring plays,
And round and round for ever gaze.

My Orra Moor, where art thou laid?
What wood conceals my fleeping maid?
Faft by the roots enrag'd I'd tear
The trees that hide my promis'd fair.
O could I ride on clouds and fkies,
Or on the raven's pinions rife!
Ye ftorks, ye fwans, a moment stay,
And waft a lover on his way!

Nor

STEEL

My blifs too long my bride denies,
Apace the wafting fummer flies:
yet the wintry blafts I fear,
Not forms or night fhall keep me here.
What may for ftrength with ftec! compare!
O, Love has fetters stronger far:
By bolts of fteel are limbs confin'd,
But cruel Love enchains the mind.

No longer then perplex thy breaft;
When thoughts torment, the first are beft;
'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to ftay,
Away to Orra, hafte away!

$27. Song. The Midfummer Wib. CROXALL WAFT me, fome foft and cooling breeze,

To Windfor's fhady kind retreat;
Where fylvan fcenes, wide-fpreading trees,
Repel the dog-ftar's raging heat:
Where tufted grafs, and mosfy beds,
Afford a rural calm repofe;
Where woodbines hang their dewy heads,
And fragrant fweets around difclofe.
Old oozy Thames, that flows faft by
Along the fmiling valley plays;
His glafly furface cheers the eye,
And through the flow'ry meadow ftrays,
His fertile banks with herbage green,
His vales with golden plenty fwell;
Where'er his purer ftreams are feen,
The gods of health and pleasure dwell
Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave,
With naked arm once more divide;
In thee my glowing bofom lave,

And ftem thy gently rolling tide.

Lay me, with damask roses crown'd,
Beneath fome ofier's dufky fhade;
Where water-lilies deck the ground,
Where bubbling fprings refresh the glade.

§ 28. Song.

Mifs WHATELEY.

OME, dear Paftora, come away I

COM

And hail the cheerful spring; Now fragrant bloffoms crown the May, And woods with love-notes ring: Now Phoebus to the weft defcends,

And theds a fainter ray;

And, as our rural labour ends,

We blefs the clofing day.

In yonder artless maple bow'r,
With blooming woodbines twin'd,
Let us enjoy the evening hour,

On earth's foft lap reclin'd:
Or where yon poplar's verdant boughs
The crystal current shade;
O deign, fair nymph, to hear the vows
My faithful heart has made.

Within this breaft no foft deceit,
No artful flatt'ry bides:

But truth, fcarce known among
O'er ev'ry thought prefides:

the

great,

On pride's falfe glare I look with scorn,

And all its glitt'ring train;

Be mine the pleasures which adorn
This ever-peaceful plain.

Come then, my fair, and with thy love
Each rifing care subdue;
Thy prefence can cach grief remove,
And ev'ry joy renew.

The lily fades, the rofe grows faint,

Their tranfient bloom is vain; But lafting truth and virtue paint Paftora of the plain.

§ 29. Song.

COME, dear Amanda, quit the town,

And to the rural hamlets fly; Behold, the wintry ftorms are gone, A gentle radiance glads the sky. The birds awake, the flow'rs appear, Earth spreads a verdant couch for thee; 'Tis joy and mufic all we hear !

'Tis love and beauty all we see ! Come, let us mark the gradual spring, How peep the buds, the bloffom blows, Till Philomel begins to fing,

And perfect May to spread the rofe. Let us fecure the short delight,

And wifely crop the blooming day; For foon, too foon, it will be night, Arife my love, and come away.

HASTE, my rein-deer, and let us nimbly go Our amorous journey through this dreary waste :

Hafte, my rein-deer! fill, ftill thou art too flow; Impetuous love demands the lightning's hate. Around us far the rufhy moors are fpread;

Soon will the fun withdraw his cheerful ray, Darkling and tir'd we fhall the marshes tread, No lay unfung to cheat the tedious way. The wat'ry length of these unjoyous moors Docs all the flow'ry meadows pride excel; Through thefe I fly to her my foul adores;

Ye flow'ry meadows, empty pride, farewel! Each moment from the charmer I'm confin'd,

My breaft is tortur'd with impatient fires; Fly, my rein-deer, fly fwifter than the wind, Thy tardy feet wing with my fierce defires. Our pleafing toil will then be foon o'erpaid, And thou, in wonder loft, fhalt view my fair, Admire each feature of the lovely maid, Her artless charms, her bloom, her sprightly air.

W

31. Song.

Arno's Vale.

Earl of MIDDLESEX *.

WHEN here, Lucinda, first we came,

Where Arno rolls his filver ftream, How blithe the nymphs, the fwains how gay ! Content infpir'd each rural lay. The birds in livelier concert fung, The grapes in thicker clufters hung; All look'd as joy could never fail Among the fweets of Arno's vale. But fince the good Palemon died, The chief of thepherds, and their pride, Now Arno's fons must all give place To northern men, an iron race. The tafte of pleasure now is o'er; Thy notes, Lucinda, please no more; The mufes droop, the Goths prevail ! Adieu, the fweets of Arno's vale!

aa 3

And

833. Song. The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd. Sir W. RALEIGH.

IF all the world and love were young,

And truth in ev'ry fhepherd's tongue,
Thefe pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The reft complain of cares to come.
The flow'rs do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reck'ning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's fpring, but forrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of rofes,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy pofies,
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reafon rotten.
Thy belt of ftraw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clafps, and amber ftuds,
All thefe in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth laft, and love ftill breed,
Had joy no date, nor age no need ;
Then thefe delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Where my faireft and I, on its verge as wept (For 'tis the that muft ftill be my theme) Our shadows may view on the watery glass, While the fish are at play in the ftream. May the herds ceafe to low, and the lambkins bleat,

When the fings me fome amorous fuain;
All be filent and hush'd, unless Echo repeat
The kind words and fweet founds back aga
And when we return to our cottage at night,
Hand in hand as we fauntering ftray,
Let the moon's filver beams through the leavesge
us light,
Juft direct us,
and chequer our way.

Let the nightingale warble its notes in our
As thus gently and flowly we move;
And let no fingle thought he exprefs'd in or a
But of friendship improv'd into love.
Thus enchanted cach day with these rural deligin
And secure from ambition's alarms ;
Soft love and repofe fhall divide all our nights
And each morning fhall rife with new c

Around us our boys and girls frolic and plav: How pleafing their iport is, the wanton one k And borrow their looks from my Jeffe and me. To try her fweet temper, fometimes am I feen In revels all day with the nymphs on the gre Though painful ny abfence, my doubts the xguiles,

And meets me at night with compliance and fimin. What though on her checks the rofe lofes its hae, Her wit and good-humour bloom all the ye through;

Time ftill, as he flies, adds increase to her truth. And gives to her mindwhat he steals from her youth Ye fhepherds fo gay, who make love to enfrar And cheat with falfe vows the too-credulous far. In fearch of true pleafure how vaisly you roa To hold it for life, you must find it at home.

main

For the fake of good liquor, as well as for gain!
No fear then of tempeft, or danger of finking;
The fishes ne'er drown that are always a-drinking.
The hot thirsty fun then would drive with more
hafte,

Secure in the evening of fuch a repaft;
And when he'd got tiply would have taken his nap
With double the pleature in Thetis's lap.

By the force of his rays, and thus heated with wine,

Confider how glorioufly Phoebus would shine;
What vaft exhalations he'd draw up on high,
To relieve the poor earth as it wanted fupply.
How happy us mortals, when blefs'd with fuch
rain,

To fill all our veffels, and fill them again!
Nay even the beggar, that has ne'er a difh,
Might jump into the river, and drink like a fish.
What mirth and contentment in ev'ry one's
brow,

Hob as great as a prince dancing after the plow!

The birds in the air, as they play on the wing,
Although they but fip, would eternally fing.
The ftars, who I think don't to drinking incline,
Would frisk and rejoice at the fume of the wine;
And, merrily twinkling, would loon let us know
That they were as happy as mortais below.
Had this been the cafe, then what had we enjoy'd,
Our fpirits till rifing, our fancy ne'er cloy'd!
A pox then on Neptune, when 'twas in his pow'r,
To flip, like a fool, fuch a fortunate hour!

That God or nature hath aflign'd: Yet full my mind forbids to crave. Though much I want that moft would have, Content I live, this is my stay ;

I

I feck no more than may faffice:
prefs to bear no haughty way;
Look what I lack my mind fupplics.
Lo! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
I fee how plenty furfeits oft,

And hatty climbers fooneft fall:
I fee that fuch as fit aloit

Mithap doth threaten most of all:
Thefe get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind could never bear.
No princely pomp, nor wealthy ftore,
No force to win a victory,
No wily wit to faive a fore,

No fhape to win a lover's eye;
To none of thefe I yield as thrall,
For why? my mind despiseth all,
Some have too much, yet ftill they crave;
I little have, yet feek no more.
They are but poor, though much they have; a
And I am rich with little ftore:

a a 4

They