ODE XXXIV.

CHLOE'S UNKNOWN LIKENESS.

BY DR. JOHN HOADLEY.

In shape, in air, in face and voice,
The very ape of Chloe!

Since I have fix'd for life my choice,
'Tis well I do not know you.

Yet witness, Love, I own the pow'r
Of this ideal maid:

So much my Chloe I adore,

I bow me to her shade.

If idol-worship be a fault,

Have mercy, Love, on meChloe's the goddess of my thought, Though Celia bows my knee.

Though the mock-sun amuse the sight,
And more demand the view;

We wonder at the mimic light,
But only feel the true.

Forgive me, fair reflected shade,
That I suppress this flame:
Who can pursue th' ideal maid,
Bless'd in the real dame?

Consult your mind, consult

your glass,

Each charm of sense and youth; Then own, who changes is an ass,

Nor wonder at my truth.

ODE XXXV.

ON THE FALLING

OF

THE AUTHOR's HAIRS.

FEW and easy in your stay,
Never curl'd, and hardly gray;
Hairs adieu! though falling all,
Blameless, harmless, may you fall.
Light and trifling though you be,
More deserving poetry

Than the dream of guilty pow'r,
Than the miser's gather'd ore,
Than the world's most serious things,
Murd'ring victors, haughty kings,
If your moral fall presage

Death, the certain end of age,
If a single hint you give

Well to die, and soon to live.

ΤΟ

MISS LAURENCE,

IN THE PUMP-ROOM, BATH. 1753.

NAID of this healthful stream,

Fair LAURENTIA, if I deem

Rightly of thy office here,

If the theme may please thine ear,
Listen gracious to my lays,

While the springs of HEALTH I praise :

Nor will less thy glory shine,

If their praise I blend with thine.

For of their renown of old

Stories many Fame hath told :

Ancient bards their names have sung

Heroes, kings, and gods among,
And with various titles grac'd,
While their fountain-head they trac'd;
Whether Bladud, king of yore,
Skill'd in philosophic lore,

Mingling various kinds of earth,

Metallic, gave the waters birth,
KING'S-BATH nam'd, beneath thy feet
Boiling ay with min'ral heat;

Or, whether from his car on high
Phoebus saw with amorous eye

The fountain-nymph, with humid train,
Light of foot, trip o'er the plain;
Straight the god, inflam'd with love,
Swift descending from above,
All in fervors bright array'd

Press'd her bosom; and the maid
Gladly to his warm embrace
Yielded: whence the happy place,
Where the nymph he woo'd and won,

Was call'd the WATERS OF THE SUN.
FAME that title widely spread;

Yet, ere Roman legions fled

The wrath of sturdy British knights,
Pallas claim'd religious rights;
British PALLADOUR then rose,

From the goddess nam'd, who chose
Near the favourite streams to dwell,
Guardian of the sacred well.

But long since HYGEIA fair

Under her peculiar care

Receiv'd the springs: for well she knows Each salubrious rill that flows

Forth from subterranean vaults,

Stor'd by NATURE's hand with salts,

Steel, or sulphur: for her use

NATURE opens every sluice,
Which HYGEIA gives in charge
To several nymphs; herself at large