VIII. Soon then I fnatch the willing reed, And foon it founds my Sylvia's name; IX. Again the fmiling sparkling eye Beams luftre o'er her heav'nly face; Again the cheek of vermil dye Sheds, blufhful round, its wonted grace X. Again her heaving breasts betray A paffion of fublimer kind; There all the loves and graces play, And there th' unerring archer* blind. XI. Again I clasp her round, in blifs, And prefs the yielding melting palm; Again I fteal th' ambrofial kiss From lips diftilling fweeteft balm! * Cupid. SONG. S S I. N FT had I laugh'd at female pow'r, Then cheerful sped each fleeting hour, Unknown to eating pain; II. By Stoic rules, feverely taught, To scorn bright beauty's charms, III. Till Sylvia, heav'nly Sylvia, came, IV. Quick from my breast each bold refolve, In empty æther flew My limbs in trembling bliss diffolve, All wet with chilling dew. G. V. O charmer! མ. O charmer! cease that ardent gaze, Nor rob me of my rest; Such light'ning from thofe eye-lids plays, VI. Deluded fwains, who, vainly proud, And, boaftful, fcorn the proftrate crowd VII. If once fair Sylvia you should meet, And view her heav'nly mien ; To Love converted, at her feet, You'll hug the pleafing chain. HILE WH I. you, dear Тoм, are forc'd to roam, In fearch of fortune, far from home, O'er bogs, o'er feas and mountains; I too, debar'd the foft retreat Of fhady groves, and murmur sweet II. Must *See an account of the THOMAS GODFREYS, father and fon, in the American Magazine. The above little ode is addreffed to the fon. Mr. Evans and he were intimate in life, and in death not long divided. They poffeffed a kind of congenial fpirits, and their fates were not diffimilar. Both courted the Mufes from their very infancy; and both were called from this world as they were but entering into their ftate of manhood. On Mr. Godfrey's death, Mr. Evans collected and published his pieces in a fmall volume, and foon afterwards left his ow pieces to the like friendly care of others. II. Muft mingle with the bustling throng, Like any other finner: For, where's the ecstasy in this, To loiter in poetic bliss, And go without a dinner? III. FLACCUS, we know, immortal bard! IV. Well might the Roman fwan, along And in Falernian riot. |