Wilt thou in tears thy lover's corse attend
With eyes averted light the solemn pyre,
Till all around the doleful flames ascend,
Then slowly sinking by degrees expire?
To soothe the hovering soul, be thine the care, With plaintive cries to lead the mournful band, In sable weeds the golden vase to bear
And cull my ashes with thy trembling hand!
Panchaia's odours be their costly feast,
And all the pride of Asia's fragrant year, Give them the treasures of the farthest East,
And, what is still more precious, give thy tear!
a garland once I wove,
I found, amid the roses, Love:
Fast by the wings the rogue I caught,
And drench'd him in a copious draught.
Heedless wretch! I took the cup,
And drank it to the bottom up.
Still I feel his tingling dart,
Still he flutters at my heart.
"TWAS she-'twas she, the gentle maid,
At eve, beneath the myrtle shade,
Kiss'd me with moist and pulpy lip:
Ev'n yet that rich, ripe, rapturous kiss,
That balmy breath, a nectar'd bliss,
Feast of the gods! I seem to sip!
Love's honied draughts can never cloy :
But, ah! in storms of passion tost,
Now, now, my madd'ning soul is lost,
Drunk with the mighty joy!
As late I slumbering lay, before my sight
Bright Venus rose in visions of the night;
She led young Cupid, as in thought profound
His modest eyes were fixed upon the ground,
And thus she spoke: " To thee, dear swain, I bring
"My little son; instruct the boy to sing."
No more she said, but vanish'd into air,
And left the wily pupil to my care:
I,—sure I was an idiot for my pains,—
Began to teach him old bucolic strains;
How Pan the pipe, how Pallas form'd the flute,
Phoebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute:---
Love to my lessons quite regardless grown,
Sung lighter lays and sonnets of his own,
Th' amours of men below, and gods above,
And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love.
sure the simplest of all shepherd swains,--
Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains;
The lighter lays of Love my fancy caught,
And I remember'd all that Cupid taught.
HAIL, golden star' of ray serene,
Thou fav'rite of the Cyprian queen,
O Hesper! glory of the night,
Diffusing through the gloom delight,
Whose beams all other stars outshine
As much as silver Cynthia thine.
O! guide me, speeding o'er the plain,
To him I love, my shepherd swain;
He keeps the mirthful feast, and soon
Dark shades will cloud the splendid moon.
Of lambs I never robb'd the fold,
Nor the lone traveller of gold;
Love is my crime: O lend thy ray
To guide a lover on her way!
May the bright star of Venus prove
The gentle harbinger of love!
THOUGH cold winter o'er my brow
Sheds a scattered shower of snow,
Waving locks of silver hair,
Fly me not capricious fair!
Tho' the Springs enlivening pow'r
Blossom in your beauty's flow'r,
Fly me not, nor slight my love ;-
In this chaplet, lo! are wove
Lucid colours blending bright,
Roses red and lilies white:
We, methinks, resemble those :
I the lily, you the rose.
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