SONG XIII. The SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE.

Y the fide of a grove, at the foot of a hill,

whiffer batch, nowhere murmur'd

I vow'd to the mufes my

time and my care,

[the rill; Since neither cou'd win me the smiles of my fair.

Free I rang'd like the birds, like the birds free I fung, And DELIA's lov'd name fcarce efcap'd from my tongue: But if once a fmooth accent delighted my ear,

I fhou'd wish, unawares, that my DELIA might hear.

With fairest ideas my bofom I ftor'd,

Allufive to none but the nymph I ador'd!
And the more I with ftudy my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impreffion fhe made on my mind.

So long as of nature the charms I pursue,
I ftill must my DELIA'S dear image renew:
The graces have yielded with DELIA to rove,
And the muses are all in alliance with love.

SONG

SONG XIV. The RoSE-BUD.

EE, DAPHNE, fee, FLORELIO cry'd,

SEE

And learn the fad effects of pride;

Yon fhelter'd rofe, how fafe conceal'd!
How quickly blafted, when reveal'd!`

The fun with warm attractive rays
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze:
A gale fucceeds from Eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.

So you, my fair, of charms divine;
Will quit the plains too fond to fhine
Where fame's tranfporting rays allure,
Tho' here more happy, more fecure.

The breath of fome neglected maid
Shall make you figh you left the shade;
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rofe, an Eastern wind.

The nymph reply'd-You firft, my fwain,
Confine your fonnets to the plain;

One envious tongue alike difarms,
You, of

your wit, me, of my charms.

What is, unknown, the poet's skill?
Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
What, unadmir'd, a charming mien,
Or what the rose's blush, unseen?

SONG XV. WINTER. 1746.

No more, ye

O more, ye warbling birds, rejoice:

Of all that chear'd the plain,

Echo alone preferves her voice,
And fhe-repeats my pain.

Where'er my lovefick limbs I lay,
To fhun the rushing wind,

Its bufy murmur feems to fay,
"She never will be kind!"

The naiads, o'er their frozen urns,
In icy chains repine;

And each in fullen filence mourns
Her freedom loft, like mine!

Soon will the fun's returning rays
The chearless froft controul;
When will relenting DELIA chafe

The 'winter of my foul?

SONG XVI. DAPHNE'S Vifit.

E birds for whom I rear'd the

grove,

With melting lay falute my love: My DAPHNE with your notes detain : Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.

Ye flow'rs! before her footsteps rife;
Difplay at once your brightest dyes;
That she your opening charms may see :
Or what were all your charms to me?

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

Ye ftreams! if e'er your banks I lov❜d,
If e'er your native founds improv❜d,
May each foft murmur foothe my fair:
Or oh! 'twill deepen my defpair.

And thou, my grot! whofe lonely bounds
The melancholy pine furrounds,
May DAPHNE praise thy peaceful gloom;
Or thou shalt prove her DAMON's tomb.

SONG XVII. Written in a Collection

of BACCHANALIAN SONGS.

A'

DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join

To plunge old care in floods of wine;
And, as your dazled eye-balls roll,
Difcern him struggling in the bowl.

Not yet is hope fo wholly flown,
Not yet is thought fo tedious grown,
But limpid stream and fhady tree
Retain, as yet, fome sweets for me.

And fee, thro' yonder filent grove,
See yonder does my DAPHNE rove:
With pride her foot-steps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.

The fole confufion I admire,
Is that my DAPHNE's eyes infpire:
I fcorn the madness you approve,
And value reafon next to love.

SONG