WHEN here LUCINDA first we came
Where Arno rolls his filver ftream,
How blithe the nymphs, the fwains how gay,
Content infpir'd each rural lay.
The birds in livelier concert fung,
The grapes in thicker clufters hung,
All look'd as joy could never fail
Among the fweets of Arno's vale.
But now fince good PALEMON died,
The chief of fhepherds and the pride,
Old Arno's fons must all give place
To northern fwains, an iron race.
The taste of pleasure now is o'er,
Thy notes LUCINDA please no more,
The Mufes droop, the Goths prevail,
Adieu the sweets of Arno's vale.
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can footh her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her fhame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bofom, is-to die.
But gently breathe the fatal truth,
And foften every harsher found,
For STREPHON's fuch a tender youth,
The fofteft words too deep will wound.
Now fountains, echoes, all be dumb;
For fhould I coft my fwain a tear,
I fhould repent it in my tomb,
And grieve I bought my rest so dear.
ROM place to place, forlorn, I go,
With downcaft eyes, a filent shade;
Forbidden to declare my woe;
To fpeak, till fpoken to, afraid.
My inward pangs, my fecret grief,
My foft confenting looks betray;
He loves, but gives me no relief;
Why speaks not he who may ?
THERE is one dark and fullen hour,
Which fate decrees our lives should know,
Elfe we thould flight th' Almighty power,
Wrapt in the joys we find below :
"Tis past, dear CYNTHIA, now let frowns begone,
A long, long pennance I have done
For crimes, alas! to me unknown.
In each foft hour of filent night
Your image in my dream
I grafp the foul of my delight,
Slumber in joys, but wake in tears:
Ah! faithless charming faint, what will you do
Let me not think I am by you
Lov'd lefs for being true.
AIR, and foft, and gay, and young,
FAIR, and foft, and
All charm! the play'd, fhe danc'd, the fung,
There was no way to 'scape the dart,
No care could guard the lover's heart.
Ah! why, cry'd I, and dropt a tear,
(Adoring, yet despairing e'er
To have her to myself alone)
Was fo much fweetnefs made for one?
But growing bolder, in her ear
I in foft numbers told my care :
She heard, and rais'd me from her feet,
And feem'd to glow with equal heat.
Like heaven's, too mighty to exprefs,
My joys could but be known by guess!
Ah! fool, faid I, what have I done,
To with her made for more than one?
But long I had not been in view,
Before her eyes their beams withdrew;
Ere I had reckon'd half her charms
She funk into another's arms.
But she that once could faithless be,
Will favour him no more than me:
He too will find himself undone,
And that she was not made for one.
|