APOLLO, god of founds and verfe, Pathetic airs and moving thoughts infpire! Whilft we thy Damon's praife rehearse: Damon himself could animate the lyre. Apollo, god of founds and verfe, Pathetic airs and moving thoughts infpire! Look down! and warm the song with thy celeftial fire. II. Ah, lovely youth! when thou wert here, Young as that god, so sweet a grace, So foft thy air, thy visage so serene, III. 5 10 But when thou didst th' obedient strings command, And join in confort thy melodious hand, Ev'n Fate itself, fuch wondrous ftrains to hear, Fate had been charm'd, had Fate an ear. But what does mufic's fkill avail? Hufh'd were the winds, wild beafts forgot to roar; But dear Eurydice came back no more. E 4 15 20 IV. Then IV. Then cease, ye fons of harmony, to mourn ; Since Damon never can return. See, fee! he mounts, and cleaves the liquid way! 25 Bright choirs of angels, on the wing, For the new gueft's arrival stay, And hymns of triumph fing. They bear him to the happy feats above, Where artful Purcell went before. Ceafe then, ye fons of mufic, cease to mourn : Your Damon never will return, No, never, never more! AN ACREON. AT T dead of night, when mortals lofe I heard a knocking at my door: ; 5 30 10} "Betray'd 15 "Betray'd by night, and led astray, "I've loft-alas! I've loft my way." Mov'd with this little tale of fate, I took a lamp, and op'd the gate; When fee! a naked boy before The threshold; at his back he wore A pair of wings, and by his fide A crooked bow and quiver ty'd. "My pretty angel! come, faid I, "Come to the fire, and do not cry!" I ftrok'd his neck and shoulders bare, And squeez'd the water from his hair; Then chaf'd his little hands in mine, And cheer'd him with a draught of wine. Recover'd thus, fays he; "I'd know, "Whether the rain has spoil'd my bow ; "Let's try”—then shot me with a dart. The venom throbb'd, did ake and smart, As if a bee had stung my heart. "Are these your thanks, ungrateful child, "Are these your thanks?"— Th' impoftor fmil'd; "Farewell, my loving hoft, fays he; "All's well; my bow's unhurt, I see; But what a wretch I've made of thee!" 30 20 35 25 THE THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THIS BE. FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. WHERE Babylon's proud walls, erected high By fam'd Semiramis, afcend the fky, Dwelt youthful Pyramus, and Thisbe fair; ΤΟ Time nurs❜d the growing flame; had Fate been kind, 15 20} Safe 25 Safe went the murmur'd founds, and every day And, opening, let us rush into each other's arms! ૩૦ 35 An intercepted kifs, then bade good-night ; The stars; and Phœbus, rifing from his bed, Drank up the dews, and dry'd the flowery mead, 40 Their grief, and laft this bold defign propofe; That, in the dead of night, both would deceive The tree well-known near a cool fountain grew, 45 The |