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What though the vine disclose her dyes,
And boast her purple store;
Can soothe our sorrows more.
He! he is gone, whose moral strain
Could wit and mirth refine;
Surpass'd the pow'r of wine.
Fast by the streams he deign'd to praise,
In yon' sequester'd grove, To him a votive urn I raise ;
To him, and friendly love.
Yes there, my friend! forlorn and fad, I
grave your Thomson's name; And there, his lyre; which fate forbad
To sound your growing fame.
There shall my plaintive song recount
Dark themes of hopeless woe;
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.
There leaves, in spite of Autumn, green,
Shall shade the hallow'd ground;
To call forth flowers around.
But no kind suns will bid me share,
Once more, His social hour;
This loss, to Damon's bow'r.
1. Navalefring'd with woodland, where grottos abound,
And rivulets murmur, and echoes resound, I vow'd to the Mufes my time and my care ; Since neither could win me the smiles of
As freedom inspir'd me, I rang'd and I sung ;
With fairest ideas my bosom I stor’d;
Ah! whilft I the beauties of nature pursue,
II. DAPHNE's Vifit.
E birds ! for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lay falute my love:
Ye flow'rs before her footsteps rise ;
Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flow'r,
Ye streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd,
And thou, my grot! whose lonely bounds
III. The ROSE-B U D. SEE
EE, Flavia, see that budding rose,
How bright beneath the bush it glows ; How safely there it lurks conceald; How quickly blasted, when reveald!
The sun with warm attractive rays
Then guard, my fair! your charms divine ;
The breath of some neglected maid
The nymph reply'd, “ You first, my fwain,
“ What is, unheard, the tuneful thrill ?
What, unadmir'd, a charming mien,
IV. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.
DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join
To plunge old Care in Aoods of wine;
Not yet is hope so wholly flown,