There Stella claims the wreath, and pleads her eyes, By which each day fome new adorer dies.
Serena, by good-humour doubly fair,
With native sweetness charms, and fmiling air.
While Flora's youthful years and looks display
The bloom of ripening fruits, the innocence of May,
The opening fweets that months of pleasure bring,
The dawn of Love, and life's indulgent fpring.
'Twere endless to defcribe the various darts,
With which the fair are arm'd to conquer hearts.
Whatever can the ravish'd soul inspire
With tender thoughts, and animate defire,
All arts and virtues mingled in the train;
And long the lovely rivals ftrove in vain,
While Cupid unrefolv'd still search'd around the
plain.
O! could I find, faid Love, the phoenix fhe,
In whom at once the feveral charms agree;
That phoenix fhe the laurel crown should have,
And Love himself with pride become her slave.
He scarce had spoke, when see-Harmonia came!
Chance brought her there, and not desire of fame;
Unknowing of the choice, till she beheld
The god approach to crown her in the field.
Th' unwilling maid, with wondrous modefty,
Difclaim'd her right, and put the laurel by:
Warm blushes on her tender cheeks arise,
And double foftnefs beautify'd her eyes.
At this, more charm'd, the rather I bestow,
Said Love, these honours you in vain forego;
Take then the wreath, which you, victorious fair,
Have moft deferv'd, yet least affect to wear.
PLAYING ON THE
WHEN fam❜d Cecilia
on the organ play'd, And fill'd with moving founds the tuneful
Drawn by the charm, to hear the facred maid,
From heaven, 'tis faid, a liftening angel came.
Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse;
for were the bold tradition true, harmonious touch that charm renews,
Again the feraph would appear to you. O happy fair! in whom with purest light, Virtue's united beams with beauty shine! Should heavenly guests descend to blefs our fight, What form more lovely could they wear than thine?
JE mourrai de trop de plaifir
Si je le trouve favourable;
Je mourrai de trop de defir
Se je la trouve inexorable.
Ainfi je ne fçaurois guerir
De la douleur qui me poffede;
Je fuis affuré de perir
Par le mal, ou par le remede.
DIE with too tranfporting joy,
If the I love rewards my fire;
If she's inexorably coy,
With too much paffion I expire.
PAIN TE R
PAINTER, if thou canft fafely gaze
On all the wonders of that face;
If thou hast charms to guard a heart
Secure by fecrets of thy art;
O! teach the mighty charm, that we
May gaze fecurely too, like thee.
Canft thou Love's brighteft lightning draw,
Which none e'er yet unwounded faw ?
To what then wilt thou next afpire,
Unless to imitate Jove's fire ?
Which is a lefs adventurous pride,
Though 'twas for that Salmoneus dy’d.
That beauteous, that victorious fair,
Whose chains so many lovers wear;
Who with a look can arts infuse,
Create a Painter, or a Muse;
Whom crowds with awful rapture view
She fits ferene, and smiles on you!
Your genius thus infpir'd will foar
To wondrous heights unknown before,
And to her beauty you will own
Your future kill and fix'd renown.
So when of old great Ammon's fon,
Adorn'd with spoils in battle won,
In graceful picture chofe to ftand,
The work of fam'd Apelles' hand;
“Exert thy fire, the monarch faid,
"Now be thy boldeft ftrokes difplay'd,
"To let admiring nations fee
"Their dreaded victor drawn by thee;
"To others thou may'ft life impart,
"But I'll immortalize thy art!"
S when Camilla once, a warlike dame,
In bloody battles won immortal fame,
Forfook her female arts, and chose to bear
The ponderous fhield, and heave the maffy fpear,
Superior to her fex, so swift fhe flew
Around the field, and fuch vast numbers flew,
That friends and foes, alike furpris'd, behold
The brave Virago desperately bold,
And thought her Pallas in a human mould.
Such is our wonder, matchless maid! to fee
The tragic laurel thus deserv'd by thee.
Still
greater praise is yours; Camilla fhines For ever bright in Virgil's facred lines,
Nor need you to another's bounty owe,
For what yourself can on yourself beftow;
So monarchs in full health are wont to rear,
At their own charge, their future fepulchre.
Who thy perfections fully would commend,
Muft think how others their vain hours mispend,
In trifling vifits, pride, impertinence,
Drefs, dancing, and difcourfe devoid of fenfe;
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