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What though the vine disclose her dyes,

And boast her purple store;
Not all the vineyard's rich supplies

Can soothe our sorrows more.

He! he is gone, whose moral strain

Could wit and mirth refine;
He ! he is gone, whose social vein

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;
And, faster than the dropping fount,

I'll teach mine eyes to flow.

There leaves, in spite of Autumn, green,

Shall shade the hallow'd ground;
And Spring will then again be seen,

To call forth flowers around.

But no kind suns will bid me share,

Once more, His social hour;
Ah Spring ! thou never canst repair

This loss, to Damon's bow'r.

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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

my

fair.

INava

As freedom inspir'd me, I rang'd and I sung ;
And Daphne's dear name never fell from my tongue:
But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I should wish, unawares, that my Daphne might hear.

With fairest ideas my bosom I stor’d;
Allusions to none but the nymph I adord;
And the more I with study my fancy refin’d,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.

Ah! whilft I the beauties of nature pursue,
I still must my Daphne's fair image renew :
The Graces have chosen with Daphne to rove,
And the Muses are all in alliance with Love.

II. DAPHNE's Vifit.

A

Y

E birds ! for whom I rear'd the grove,

With melting lay falute my love:
My Daphne with your notes detain :
Or I have reard my grove in vain.

Ye flow'rs before her footsteps rise ;
Display at once your brightest dyes;
That she your opening charms may fee:
Or what were all your charms to me?

Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flow'r,
And shed its odours round my bow'r:
Or never more, O gentle wind,
Shall I, from thee, refreshment find.

Ye

Ye streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd,
If e'er your native sounds improv'd,
May each soft murmur soothe my fair :
Or oh! 'twill deepen my despair.

And thou, my grot! whose lonely bounds
The melancholy pine surrounds,
May Daphne praise thy peaceful gloom ;
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.

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
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze :
A blaft descends from eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.

Then guard, my fair! your charms divine ;
And check the fond desire to shine
Where fame's transporting rays allure,
While here more happy, more secure.

The

The breath of some neglected maid
Shall make you sigh you left the shade :
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rose, an eastern wind.

The nymph reply'd, “ You first, my fwain,
“ Confine your fonnets to the plain ;
“ One envious tongue alike difarms,
You, of your wit, me, of my charms.

“ What is, unheard, the tuneful thrill ?
“ Or what, unknown, the poet's skill?

What, unadmir'd, a charming mien,
“ Or what the rose's blush, unseen?”

IV. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.

DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join

To plunge old Care in Aoods of wine;
And, as your dazzled eye-balls roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl.

Not yet is hope so wholly flown,
Nor yet is thought so tedious grown,
But limpid stream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, fome sweets for me.

And

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