A

S ARIANA young and fair

By night the ftarry choir did tell,
She found in CASSIOPEIA's chair
One beauteous light the reft excel :
This happy ftar unfeen before,

Perhaps was kindled from her eyes,
And made for mortals to adore
A new-born glory in the fkies.

Or if within the sphere it grew,
Before the gaz'd the lamp was dim ;

But from her eyes the fparkles flew

That gave new luftre to the gem: Bright omen! what doft thou portend, Thou threat'ning beauty of the fky; What great, what happy monarch's end? For fure by thee 'tis fweet to die.

Whether to thy foreboding fire
We owe the crefcent in decay;
Or must the mighty Gaul expire,
A victim to thy fatal ray ?

Such

Such a prefage will late be shewn
Before the world in ashes lies;
But if lefs ruin will attone,

Let STREPHON's only fate fuffice.

CHARLES DRYDEN.

W

HEN firft I faw LUCINDA's face,

And view'd the dazzling glories there,

She feem'd of a diviner race,

Than that which nature planted here.

With facred homage down I fell,

Wond'ring whence fuch a form could spring;

Tell me, I cry'd, fair vifion, tell

The dread commands from heaven you bring.

For if paft fins may be forgiven,

By this bright evidence I know
The careful Gods have made a heaven,

That made fuch angels for it too.

CHLORIS, yourself you fo excel,

When you vouchfafe to breathe my thought,

That like a fpirit, with this fpell

Of my own teaching, I am caught.

The eagle's fate and mine are one,

Which on the fhaft that made him die

Espy'd a feather of his own,

Wherewith he used to foar fo high.

Had Echo with so sweet a grace
Narciffus' loud complaints return'd,

Not for reflection of his face,

But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.

WALLER.

ST

TREPHON has fashion, wit and youth,
With all things else that please;

He nothing wants but love and truth

To ruin me with eafe:

But he is flint, and bears the art

To kindle ftrong defire;

His pow'r inflames another's heart,
Yet he ne'er feels the fire.

O! how it does my foul perplex,
When I his charms recall,

To think he fhould defpife the fex,
Or worse, thould love 'em all.
My wearied heart, like Noah's dove,
Thus feeks in vain for reft;

Finding no hope to fix its love,
Returns into my breast,

MRS. TAYLOR.

A

T CYNTHIA's feet I figh'd, I pray'd,

And wept; yet all the while

The cruel unrelenting maid

Scarce paid me with a smile.

Such foolish timorous arts as these
Wanted the power to charm;
They were too innocent to please,
They were too cold to warm.

Refolv'd, I rofe, and foftly prest

The lilies of her neck;

With longing eager lips I kist

The rofes of her cheek.

Charm'd with this boldnefs, the relents,

And burns with equal fire;

To all my wishes the confents,
And crowns my fierce defire.

With heat like this PYGMALION mov'd
His ftatue's icy charms;

Thus warm'd the marble virgin lov'd,
And melted in his arms.

WI

INE, wine in the morning
Makes us frolick and gay,

That like eagles we foar

In the pride of the day;

Gouty fots of the night
Only find a decay.

"Tis the fun ripes the grape,

And to drinking gives light;

We