Then Colin to Sylvia smilingly said, From him, like the butterfly, still have you fled, Tho' wooed by his musical tongue. Beware in persisting to start from his arms, Come, take my advice; or he's palled with your charms, Like the youth and the beautiful fly. Says Sylvia,-Colin, thy simile's just, But still to Amyntor I'm coy; For I vow she's a simpleton blind that would trust A swain, when he courts to destroy. THE COMPLAINT. NEAR the heart of a fair-spreading grove, A shepherd, repining at love, In anguish was heard to complain.— "O Cupid! thou wanton young boy! Since, with thy invisible dart, "Thou hast robbed a fond youth of his joy, "In return grant the wish of his heart. "Send a shaft so severe from thy bow, 66 (His pining, his sighs, to remove), "That Stella, once wounded, may know "How keen are the arrows of love. "No swain once so happy as I, "Nor tuned with more pleasure the reed; My breast never vented a sigh, "Till Stella approached the gay mead. "With mirth, with contentment endowed, My hours they flew wantonly by ; "I sought no repose in the wood, Nor from my few sheep would I fly. "Now my reed I have carelessly broke; It's melody pleases no more: "I pay no regard to a flock That seldom hath wandered before. "O Stella! whose beauty so fair "For you have I quitted the plain; "For you have my roses grown pale'; "And will not such beauty bewail "Since your eyes still requite me with scorn, "And kill with their merciless ray; “Like a star at the dawning of morn, "I fall to their lustre a prey. "Some swain who shall mournfully go "To whisper love's sigh to the shade, "Will haply some charity shew, "And under the turf see me laid. "Would my love but in pity appear "On the spot where he moulds my cold grave, "And bedew the green sod with a tear,. ""Tis all the remembrance I crave." To the sward then his visage he turned; 'Twas wan as the lilies in May: Fair Stella may see him inurned; He hath sighed all his sorrows away. RETIREMENT. COME, Inspiration! from thy vernal bow'r, To thy celestial voice attune the lyre; Smooth gliding strains in sweet profusion pour, And aid my numbers with seraphic fire. ; Under a lonely spreading oak I lay, There gentle Sleep my acting powers supprest; She led me near a crystal fountain's noise, Where undulating waters sportive play; Where a young comely swain, with pleasing voice, In tender accents sung his sylvan lay. P Adieu, ye baneful pleasures of the town! Farewel, ye giddy and unthinking throng! "Without regret your foibles I disown; "Themes more exalted claim the Muse's 66 song. 66 Your stony hearts no social feelings share; "Your souls of distant sorrows ne'er partake; "Ne'er do you listen to the needy prayer, "Nor drop a tear for tender pity's sake. "Welcome, ye fields, ye fountains, and ye "groves! "Ye flowery meadows, and extensive plains! "Where soaring warblers pour their plaintive "loves, "Each landscape cheering with their vocal "strains. "Here rural Beauty rears her pleasing shrine; "She on the margin of each streamlet "Here Chastity may wander unassailed, "Thro' fields where gay seducers cease to ' rove; |