Yet, thefe mournful thoughts poffeffing,
Such delights I find in grief,
That, could Heaven afford relief,
My fond heart would fcorn the bleffing.
HAT which her flender waist confin'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind:
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heavens extremeft sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer:
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair:
Give me but what this ribband bound,
Take all the reft the fun
ET the ambitious ever find
Success in crouds and noise,
While gentle love does fill my mind
With filent real joys.
Let knaves and fools grow rich and great,
And the world think them wife, While I lye at my Nannys feet, And all that world defpife.
Let conquering kings new trophies raife,
And melt in court delights:
Her eyes can give much brighter days,
Her arms much softer nights.
A TRANSLATION FROM SAPPHO.
LESS'D as th' immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly fits by thee, And hears and fees thee all the while
Softly speak and fweetly fmile. .
'Twas this depriv'd my foul of reft,
And rais'd fuch tumults in my breaft;
For while I gaz'd, in tranfport tofs'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was loft.
My bofom glow'd; the fubtile flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulfe forgot to play,
I fainted, funk, and died away.
IN IMITATION OF CORNELIUS GALLUS.
BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.
Y goddess Lydia, heav'nly fair,
As lilies fweet, as foft as air;
Let loofe thy treffes, fpread thy charms,
And to my love give fresh alarms.
O let me gaze on those bright eyes,
Though facred lightning from them flies:
Show me that foft, that modeft grace,
Which paints with charming red thy face.
Give me Ambrofia in a kifs,
That I may rival Jove in bliss;
That I may mix my foul with thine,
And make the pleasure all divine.
O hide thy bofoms killing white,
(The milky way is not fo bright)
Left you my ravifh'd foul opprefs,
With beautys pomp and fweet excess.
Why draw'st thou from the purple flood
Of my kind heart the vital blood?
Thou art all over endless charms;
O! take me, dying, to thy arms.
N Belvideras bofom lying,
Wishing, panting, fighing, dying;
The cold regardless maid to move
With unavailing pray'rs I fue;
You firft have taught me how to love,
Ah! teach me to be happy too.
But fhe, alas! unkindly wife,
To all my fighs and tears replies,
"Tis every prudent maids concern
Her lovers fondness to improve;
If to be happy you should learn,
You quickly would forget to love.
HE bird that hears her neftlings cry,
And flies abroad for food,
Returns impatient through the sky,
To nurfe the callow brood.
The tender mother knows no joy,
But bodes a thousand harms,
And fickens for the darling boy,
While abfent from her arms.
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