Their board no ftrange ambiguous viand bore; The fole deceit their artless bofom knew! Sincere themselves, ah too fecure to find The common bosom, like their own, fincere ! 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind 3 'Tis her own poifon bids the viper fear. Sketch'd on the lattice of th' adjacent fane, And let frail mortals claim your guardian care. For fure, to blifsful realms the fouls are flown, The journeying peasant, thro' the secret shade, Heard their foft lyres engage his lift'ning ear; And haply deem'd fome courteous angel play'd; No angel play'd-but might with transport hear. For these the founds that chafe unholy ftrife! Farewel, Farewel, pure fpirits! vain the praise we give, Deferve an ampler blifs than life beftows. Laft of his race, PALEMON, now no more He fuggefts the advantages of birth to a perfon of merit, and the folly of a fupercilioufness that is built upon that fole foundation. WHEN genius grac'd with lineal splendor glows, When title fhines, with ambient virtues crown'd, Like fome fair almond's flow'ry pomp it fhews; The pride, the perfume of the regions round, Then learn, ye fair! to foften fplendor's ray; Pity the fandal'd fwain, the fhepherd's boy; He mourns his lot; he wishes, merits fame, In vain to groves and pathless vales we fly; Vainly, to guard from love's unequal chain, Shou'd ****'s eyes illume the defart plain, Nor Nor unregarded fighs the lowly hind; And vengeance, too fevere! the gods allow. On SARUM's plain I met a wand'ring fair; The look of forrow, lovely ftill fhe bore: Loose flow'd the foft redundance of her hair, And, on her brow, a flow'ry wreath she wore. Oft stooping as she ftray'd, she cull'd the pride And still her hand fome various garland wove. Erroneous fancy fhap'd her wild attire ; From BETHLEM's walls the poor lympatic ftray'd; Seem'd with her air her accent to confpire, When, as wild fancy taught her, thus fhe faid. "Hear me, dear youth! oh hear an hapless maid, The world is frantic-fly the race profane- Come friendly let us wander, and complain, And tell me, thepherd! haft thou feen my love? My My love is young-but other loves are young No vulgar DAMON robs me of my rest, A prince, from gods defcended, fires her breast; What, fhall I ftain the glories of my race? More clear, more lovely bright than HESPER's beam? The porc'lain pure with vulgar dirt debafe? Or mix with puddle the pellucid stream ? See thro' thefe veins the faphire current shine! The painter ftrove to trace its azure ray; He chang'd his colours, and in vain he strove, He frown'd-I ímiling view'd the faint effay; Poor youth! he little knew it flow'd from Jove. Pitying his toil, the wond'rous truth I told; |