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Descend, ye storms ! destroy my rising pile ;
Loos'd be the whirlwind's unremitting sway; Contented I, altho' the gazer smile
To see it scarce survive a winter's day.
Let some dull dotard balk in thy gay shrine,
As in the sun regales his wanton herd; Guiltless of envy, why shou'd I repine,
That his.rude voice, his grating reed's preferid ?
Let him exult, with boundless wealth fupply'd,
Mine and the swain's reluctant homage share ; But ah! his tawdry shepherdefs's pride,
Gods ! must my Delia, must my Delia bear?
Must DELIA's softness, elegance, and ease
Submit to MARIAN's dress ? to Marian's gold? Must Marian's robe from distant India please?
The fimple fleece my Della's limbs enfold ?
" Yet sure on Delia seems the ruffer fair ;
“ Ye glitt'ring daughters of disguise adieu !" So talk the wise, who judge of shape and air,
But will the rural thane decide so true ?
Ah! what is native worth efteem'd of clowns ?
'Tis thy false glare, O fortune ! thine they see : 'Tis for my Delia's fake I dread thy frowns, And my last gasp shall curses breathe on thee. D4
He complains how soon the pleasing novelty of life is
Hme, my friend ! it will not, will not last!
This fairy-scene, that cheats our youthful eyes !
The banquet ceases, and the vision flies.
Where are the splendid forms, the rich perfumes,
Where the gay tapers, where the spacious dome?
And we, delightless, left to wander home!
Vain now are books, the sage's wisdom vain!
What has the world to bribe our steps astray ?
The weaken’d passions, self-fubdued, obey.
Scarce has the sun sev'n annual courses rolld,
Scarce shewn the whole that fortune can supply;
As I, for what it gave, was heard to sigh.
On the world's stage I wish'd some sprightly part;
To deck my native fleece with tawdry lace ;
And you, ye works of art! allur'd mine eye,
The breathing picture, and the living stone : “ Tho? gold, tho' splendour, heav'n and fate deny,
“ Yet might I call one Titian stroke my own!”
Smit with the charms of fame, whose lovely spoil,
The wreath, the garland, fire the poet's pride, I trim'd my lamp, consum'd the midnight oil
But soon the paths of health and fame divide !
Oft too I pray’d, 'twas nature form'd the pray’r,
To grace my native scenes, my rural home; To see my trees express their planter's care, And gay, on Attic models, raise
But now 'tis o'er, the dear delusion's o'er!
my A fond aspiring candidate no more,
I scorn the palm, before I reach the goal.
O youth! enchanting stage, profusely blest !
; Of health neglectful, yet by health careft ;
Careless of favour, yet secure to find,
Then glows the breast, as op'ning roses fair ;
More free, more vivid than the linnet's wing;
Not all the force of manhood's active might,
Not all the craft to subtle age assign’d,
the tender mind.
Adieu soft raptures ! transports void of care !
Parent of raptures, dear deceit, adieu ! And
you, her daughters, pining with despair, Why, why so soon her fleeting steps pursue !
Tedious again to curse the drizling day!
Again to trace the wintry tracts of snow! Or, footh'd by vernal airs, again survey
The self-fame hawthorns bud, and cowsips blow!
O life! how foon of ev'ry bliss forlorn!
We start false joys, and urge the devious race : A tender prey; that chears our youthful morn,
Then finks untimely, and defrauds the chace,
O more the muse obtrudes her thin disguise;
No more with aukward
And reason in her lonesome palace reigns.
Ere the chill winter of our days arrive,
No more she paints the breast from passion free; I feel, I feel one loitering wish survive
Ah need I, Florio, name that wish to thee?
The star of Venus ushers in the day,
The first, the loveliest of the train that shine! The star of Venus lends her brightest ray,
When other stars their friendly beams resign.
Still in my breast one soft desire remains,
Pure as that star, from guilt, from intrest free, Has gentle Della trip'd across the plains,
And need I, Florio, name that wish to thee?
While, cloy'd to find the scenes of life the fame,
I tune with careless hand my languid lays ;