In vain to groves and pathless vales we fly;

Ambition there the bowery haunt invades; Fame's awful rays fatigue the courtier's eye, [shades.

But gleam still lovely through the chequer'd

Vainly, to guard from Love's unequal chain,
Has Fortune rear'd us in the rural grove;
Should ****'s eyes illume the desert plain,
Ev'n I may wonder, and ev'n I must love.

Nor unregarded sighs the lowly hind;

Though you contemn, the gods respect his vow; Vindictive rage awaits the scornful mind,

And vengeance, too severe! the gods allow.

On Sarum's plain I met a wandering fair;

The look of sorrow, lovely still, she bore; Loose flow'd the soft redundance of her hair, And on her brow a flowery wreath she wore. Oft stooping as she stray'd, she cull'd the pride Of every plain; she pillag'd every grove!

The fading chaplet daily she supplied,

And still her hand some various garland wove. Erroneous Fancy shap'd her wild attire;

From Bethlem's walls the poor lymphatic stray'd ; Seem'd with her air her accent to conspire,

When as wild Fancy taught her, thus she said: 'Hear me, dear yonth, oh! hear an hapless maid, Sprung from the sceptred line of ancient kings! Scorn'd by the world, I ask thy tender aid;

Thy gentle voice shall whisper kinder things. The world is frantic-fly the race profaneNor I nor you shall its compassion move; Come, friendly let us wander and complain, And tell me, shepherd! hast thou seen my love?

'My love is young-but other loves are young!
And other loves are fair, and so is mine;
An air divine discloses whence he sprung;
He is my love who boasts that air divine.

'No vulgar Damon robs me of my rest;
Ianthe listens to no vulgar vow;

A prince, from gods descended, fires her breast; A brilliant crown distinguishes his brow.

What, shall I stain the glories of my race, [beam? More clear, more lovely bright, than Hesper's The porc❜lain pure with vulgar dirt debase?

Or mix with puddle the pellucid stream?

'See through these veins the sapphire current shine! 'Twas Jove's own nectar gave the' ethereal hue: Can base plebeian forms contend with mine, Display the lovely white, or match the blue? " The painter strove to trace its azure ray;

He chang'd his colours, and in vain he strove: He frown'd-I, smiling, view'd the faint essay: Poor youth! he little knew it flow'd from Jove. 'Pitying his toil, the wondrous truth I told,

How amorous Jove trepann'd a mortal fair; How through the race the generous current roll'd, And mocks the poet's art and painter's care. "Yes, from the gods, from earliest Saturn sprung Our sacred race, through demigods convey'd, And he, allied to Phœbus, ever young,

My godlike boy! must wed their duteous maid. 'Oft, when a mortal vow profanes my ears,

My sire's dread fury murmurs through the sky! And should I yield-his instant rage appears; He darts the' uplifted vengeance-and I die.

'Have you not heard unwonted thunders roll? Have you not seen more horrid lightnings glare? "Twas then a vulgar love ensnar'd my soul; 'Twas then-I hardly 'scap'd the fatal snare. "Twas then a peasant pour'd his amorous vow, All as I listen'd to his vulgar strain ;Yet such his beauty-would my birth allow, Dear were the youth, and blissful were the plain, " But, oh! I faint, why wastes my vernal bloom, In fruitless searches ever doom'd to rove? My nightly dreams the toilsome path resume, And shall I die-before I find my love? 'When last I slept, methought my ravish'd

eye

On distant heaths his radiant form survey'd ; Though night's thick clouds encompass'd all the sky, The gems that bound his brow dispell'd the shade. O how this bosom kindled at the sight! Led by their beams I urg'd the pleasing chase, Till on a sudden these withheld their lightAll, all things envy the sublime embrace. "But now no more-behind the distant grove Wanders my destin'd youth, and chides my stay: See, see! he grasps the steel-forbear, my loveIanthe comes; thy princess hastes away.' Scornful she spoke, and heedless of reply, The lovely maniac bounded o'er the plain, The piteous victim of an angry sky!

Ah me! the victim of her proud disdain.

HE INDULGES THE SUGGESTIONS OF SPLEEN:

AN ELEGY TO THE WINDS.

Æole! namque tibi divum Pater atque hominum rex,
Et mulcere dedit mentes et tollere vento.

O Eolus! to thee the Sire supreme

Of gods and men the mighty pow'r bequeath'd
To rouse or to assuage the human mind.

STERN monarch of the winds! admit my pray'r; A while thy fury check, thy storms confine; No trivial blast impels the passive air,

But brews a tempest in a breast like mine.
What bands of black ideas spread their wings!
The peaceful regions of content invade!
With deadly poison taint the crystal springs!
With noisome vapour blast the verdant shade!
I know their leader, Spleen, and the dread sway
Of rigid Eurus, his detested sire;

Through one my blossoms and my fruits decay;
Through one my pleasures and my hopes expire.
Like some pale stripling, when his icy way,
Relenting, yields beneath the noontide beam,
I stand aghast, and chill'd with fear, survey
How far I've tempted life's deceitful stream.
Where, by remorse impell'd, repuls'd by fears,
Shall wretched Fancy a retreat explore?
She flies the sad presage of coming years,

And sorrowing dwells on pleasures now no more.

Again with patrons and with friends she roves,

But friends and patrons never to return;

She sees the Nymphs, the Graces, and the Loves, But sees them weeping o'er Lucinda's urn.

She visits, Isis! thy forsaken stream,

Oh! ill forsaken for Baotian air;

She deems no flood reflects so bright a beam,
No reed so verdant, and no flowers so fair.

She deems beneath thy sacred shades were peace,
Thy bays might ev'n the civil storm repel;
Reviews thy social bliss, thy learned ease,

And with no cheerful accent cries Farewell!

Farewell, with whom to these retreats I stray'd,
By youthful sports, by youthful toils, allied;
Joyous we sojourn'd in thy circling shade,
And wept to find the paths of life divide.
She paints the progress of my rival's vow,
Sees every Muse a partial ear incline,
Binds with luxuriant bays his favour'd brow,

Nor yields the refuse of his wreath to mine. She bids the flatt'ring mirror, form'd to please, Now blast my hope, now vindicate despair; Bids my fond verse the love-sick parley cease, Accuse my rigid fate, acquit my fair.

Where circling rocks defend some pathless vale,
Superfluous mortal! let me ever rove;
Alas! there echo will repeat the tale-

Where shall I find the silent scenes I love?
Fain would I mourn my luckless fate alone,
Forbid to please, yet fated to admire;
Away, my friends! my sorrows are my own;
Why should I breathe around my sick desire?