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But lest I fall by subtler foes,
Bright Wisdom! teach me Curio's art,
And quell the rebels of the heart.
THE MIDSUMMER'S WISH.
BY THE SAME.
O PH BUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
And wake them to the cares of day.
Come, gentle Eve, the friend of Care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night;
And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet Nature spreads ;
In showers its fragrant foliage sheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrties twine,
And every strain be tuned to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vast desires ! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.
Whilst all my wish and thine complete,
By turns we lauguish and we burn, Let sigling gales our sighis repeat,
Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.
Let me, when Nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretel, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.
BY THE SAME.
ALAS! with swift and silent pace
Impatient Time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.
'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away,
And Summer fruits desert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now, trod in dust, neglected lie,
As Boreas strips the bending trees.
The fields that waved with golden grain,
As russet heaths, are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,
Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. No more while through the midnight shade,
Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime she soars ;
0! would some god but wings supply, To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight, I'd fly.
Vain wish! me fate compels to bear
The downward season's iron reign; Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.
What bliss to life can Autumn yield,
If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field,
And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?
Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,
To cheer me in the darkening hour! The grape remains! the friend of wit,
In love and mirth of mighty power.
Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl;
Apollo ! shoot thy parting ray: This gives the sunshine of the soul,
This god of health, and verse, and day.
Still-still the jocund strain shall flow,
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat: My Steila with new charms shall glow,
And every bliss in wine shall meet.
W I N T E R.
BY THE SAME.
No more the morn with tepid rays
Unfolds the flower of various hue: Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distils the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Usurping darkness shares the day; Her mists restrain the force of light,
And Phæbus holds a doubtful sway.
By gloomy twilight half reveald,
With sighis we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,
The snow-topt cot, the frozen-rill.