III.

Her air was fo modeft, her aspect so meek!
So fimple, yet fweet, were her charms!
I kifs'd the ripe rofes that glow'd on her check,
And lock'd the dear maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if, by yon prattler, the ftream,
Reclin❜d on her bofom, I fink into fleep,
Her image still softens my dream.

IV.

Together we range o'er the flow rifing hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the streamlet diftils,
And point out new themes for my mufe.
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The damfel's of humble descent ;

The cottager, PEACE, is well known for her fire,
And shepherds have nam'd her CONTENT.

CORYDON AND PHILLIS:

H

A PASTORA L.

Ì.

ER fheep had in cluffers crept clofe by the grove,
To hide from the rigours of day;

And Phillis herfelf, in a woodbine alcove,
Among the fresh violets lay:

A young

A youngling, it seems, had been ftole from its dam, ("Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot)

That Corydon might, as he fearch'd for his lamb,
Arrive at this critical fpot.

II.

As through the gay hedge for his lambkin he peeps, He faw the fweet maid with furprize ;

"Ye Gods, if fo killing," he cry'd, "when she

"I'm loft when she opens her eyes

!

"To tarry much longer would hazard my heart,

"I'll onwards, my lambkin to trace:"

In vain honest Corydon ftrove to depart,
For love had him nail'd to the place.

III.

Hufh, hufh'd be thefe birds, what a bawling they "keep!"

He cry'd," you're too loud on the spray,

"Don't you fee, foolish lark, that the charmer's

"You'll wake her as fure as 'tis day:

"How dare that fond butterfly touch the fweet maid!

"Her cheek he mistakes for the rofe;

"I'd pat him to death, if I was not afraid "My boldness would break her repofe."

IV.

Young Phillis look'd up with a languishing smile,
"Kind fhepherd," fhe faid, "you mistake;
"I laid myself down just to reft me a while,
"But trust me, have still been awake :"
The shepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow,
He plac'd himself close by her fide,
And manag'd the matter, I cannot tell how,
But yesterday made her his bride.

"Omnia, tempus edax depafcitur, omnia carpit."

IN

I.

N the full profpect yonder hill commands,
O'er barren heaths, and cultivated plains;

The veftige of an ancient abbey stands,

Close by a ruin'd caftle's rude remains.

SENECA.

Half

II.

Half buried, there, lie many a broken bust,
And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by TIME;
And many a cherub, there, defcends in duft
From the rent roof, and portico fublime.

III.

The rivulets, oft frighted at the found

Of fragments, tumbling from the tow'rs on high, Plunge to their fource in fecret caves profound, Leaving their banks and pebbly bottoms dry.

IV.

Where rev'rend fhrines in gothic grandeur flood,
The nettle, or the noxious night-shade spreads;
And afhlings, wafted from the neighb'ring wood,
Thro' the worn turrets wave their trembling heads.

V.

There Contemplation, to the crowd unknown,
Her attitude compos'd, and afpect sweet!

Sits mufing on a monumental stone,

And points to the MEMENTO at her feet.

VI.

Soon as fage ev'ning check'd day's funny pride,
I left the mantling shade in moral mood;
And feated by the maid's fequefter'd fide,
Sigh'd, as the mould'ring monuments I view'd.

VII.

Inexorably calm, with filent pace

Here TIME has pafs'd-What ruin marks his way! This pile, now crumbling o'er its hallow'd base, Turn'd not his step, nor could his courfe delay.

Religion

VIII.

Religion rais'd her fupplicating eyes

In vain; and Melody her fong fublime:
In vain, Philofophy, with maxims wife,
Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of TIME.

IX.

Yet the hoar tyrant, tho' not mov❜d to spare,
Relented when he ftruck its finifh'd pride;
And partly the rude ravage to repair,

The tott'ring tow'rs with twifted ivy ty'd.

X.

How folemn is the cell o'ergrown with mofs,
That terminates the view, yon cloister'd way!
In the crush'd wall, a time-corroded cross,
Religion like, ftands mould'ring in decay!

XI.

Where the mild fun, thro' faint-encypher'd glafs,
Illum'd with mellow light yon dufky ifle,
Many rapt hours might Meditation pafs,
Slow moving 'twixt the pillars of the pile!

XII.

And Piety, with myftic-meaning beads,
Bowing to faints on every fide inurn'd,

Trod oft the folitary path that leads

Where now the facred altar lies o'erturn'd!

XIII.

Thro' the grey grove, between those with'ring trees, 'Mongft a rude group of monuments, appears

A marble-imag'd matron on her knees,

Half wafted, like a Niobe in tears:

Low