ARK! the speaking ftrings invite,
Mufic calls us to delight:

See the maids in measures move,
Winding like the maze of love.
As they mingle, madly gay,
Sporting Hebe leads the way.

On each glowing cheek is fpread,
Rofy Cupid's native red;
And from ev'ry sparkling eye,
Pointed darts at random fly.

Love, and active Yoυтн, advance

Foremost in the sprightly dance.

As the magic numbers rife,
Through my veins the poifon flies;
Raptures, not to be exprest,
Revel in my throbbing breast.
Jocund as we beat the ground,
LOVE and HARMONY go round.

Every maid (to crown his blifs)
Gives her youth a rofy kifs;

Such a kifs as might infpire
Thrilling raptures-foft defire:
Such Adonis might receive,
Such the Queen of Beauty gave,
When the conquer'd Goddess ftrove
(In the conscious myrtle grove)
To inflame the boy with love.

Let not Pride our sports restrain,
Banish hence the Prude, DISDAIN!
Think-ye virgins, if you're coy,
Think-ye rob yourselves of joy ;
Every moment you refuse,
So much extafy you lofe:
Think-how fast these moments fly :
If you should too long deny,
Love and Beauty both will die.

ANACREON

ODE XIV. IMITATE D.

WHY did I with Love engage!

Why provoke his mighty rage!

True it is the wand'ring child,
Met me with an aspect mild,

And befought me like a friend,
At his gentle fhrine to bend.
True, from my mistaken pride,
Due devotion was deny'd,
'Till (because I would not yield)
Cupid dar'd me to the field.

Now I'm in my armour clafp'd,
Now the mighty lance is grafp'd,
But an Achileian spear

Would be ineffectual here,

While the poifon'd arrows fly
Hot, as lightning from the fky.

Wounded, thro' the woods I run,
Follow'd ftill by Beauty's fon,
Arrows in malignant showers,
Still the angry urchin pours;
'Till exhaufting all his ftore,
(When the quiver yields no more)
See the God-a living dart,
Shoots himself into my heart.

Freedom I muft, now, refign,
Victory, oh Love, is thine!
What can outward actions win
When the battle burns within!

IMITATION

TROM

AN ACRE O N.

FILL

ILL me that capacious cup,
Fill it, to the margin up;
From my veins the thirsty day
Quaffs the vital strength away.

Let a wreath my temples fhield,
Fresh from the enamell'd field;
Thefe declining roses bow,
Blafted by my fultry brow.

Flowrets, by their friendly aid,
From the Sunbeams form a fhade:
Let me from my heart require,
(Glowing with intense defire)

Is there, in the deepest grove,
Shelter from the BEAMS of Love?

ANA

A

NACREON.

ODE XXXIII. IMITATE D.

то THE

SWALLOW.

OON as fummer glads the sky,
Hither, gentle bird, you fly;
And with golden sunshine bleft,
Build your pretty plaster'd nest.

When the feafons cease to smile,
(Wing'd for Memphis or the Nile)
Charming bird, you disappear
'Till the kind fucceeding year.

Like the Swallow, Love, depart!
Refpite for a while my heart.

No, he'll never leave his neft,
Tyrant tenant of my breaft!
There a thousand WISHES try
On their callow wings to fly;

There