Cease the neat labours of my hand to know;
Ill suits the care of elegance with woe!
Why did not Nature, when she gave to charm,
With unrelenting pride my bosom arm ?
Why was my foul its tender pity taught,
Each soft affection, and each gen'rous thought?
Hence spring my forrows, hence with fighs I prove,
How feeble woman, and how fierce is love.
In unavailing streams my tears are shed;
Sad Laura's bliss is with Lorenzo fled.
For thee, false youth, was ev'ry joy refign'd,
Young health, sweet peace, and innocence of mind;
Are these the constant vows thy tongue profest,
When first thy arms my yielding beauties prest?
Thus did thy kiss dispel my empty fears ?
Or winning voice delight my raptur'd ears?
Thus swore thy lips by ocean, earth, and sky;
By hell's dread pow'rs, and heav'ns all-piercing eye?
Yawns not the grave for thee? why sleeps the storm
To blast thy limbs, and rend thy perjur'd form?
Unmov'd, O faithless, canst thou hear my pain,
Like the proud rocks which brave th' unwearied main?
Sooner the shipwreck'd pilot shall appease
With fighs the howling winds, with tears the seas,
Than Laura's pray'rs thy heart unfeeling move,
O loft to fame, to honour, and to love!
Nurst in dark caverns on fome mountain wild
To cruel manhood grew the darling child,
No female breast supplied thy infant food,
But tygers growling o'er their savage brood.
Curs'd be that fatal hour thy charms were feen,
While yet this mind was guiltless, and serene.
With thee, false man, I urg'd my hafty flight,
And dar'd the horrors of tempestuous night;
Nor fear'd, with thee, through plains unknown to rove,
Deaf to the dictates of paternal love.
In vain for me a parent's tears were shed,
And to the grave descends his hoary head.
When at my feet entranc'd my lover lay,
And pour'd in tender fighs his foul away,
Fond, foolish heart! to think the tale divine!
Why started not my hands when prest in thine ?
Too well rememb'rance paints the fatal hour
When love, great conqueror, summon'd all his pow'r;
When bolder grown, your glances flash'd with fire,
And your pale lips all trembled with defire;
Back to my heart my blood tumultuous flew,
From ev'ry pore distill'd the chilling dew,
When shame presaging spoke each future pain,
And ftruggling virtue arm'd my foul in vain.
But O! let filence all my weakness veil,
And burning blushes only tell the tale.
Ah, faithless man! and thou more wretched maid,
To guilt, and grief, and misery betray'd!
Far flies thy lover to some distant plain;
Now cleaves his bounding bark the peaceful main;
Avenging heaven, that heard the vows he swore,
Bid howl the black'ning storm, and thunder roar,
Till waves on waves in tumbling mountains roll,
Now fink to hell, and now afcend the pole;
Then on some plank o'er foaming billows borne,
Trembling, his perjur'd faith the wretch shall mourn,
But mourn in vain: his vig'rous arm shall fail,
Guilt fink him down, and angry heaven prevail ; .....
No friendly hand to earth his limbs convey,
But dogs and vultures tear the bloated prey.
Yet, ah! fond heart! avert, kind heav'n, the ftroke, My heart denies what trembling lips have spoke.
The varying accents real nature prove,
And only shew how wild a thing is love.
Go, much lov'd youth, with ev'ry blessing crown'd,
And Laura's wishes ever guard thee round.
Me to the filent shades and fad retreat,
Where love's expiring flames forget their heat,
Death wooes all-powerful: ere he parts the clew,
Once more thy Laura bids her love adieu :
Bids health and affluence every bliss afford;
Bids thee be lov'd, be happy, and ador'd;
In ease, in mirth glide each glad hour away:
No pain to spot thy fortune's cloudless day;
Nor figh to swell, no tear to flow for me:
O grant heav'n all; but grant thee conftancy.
Yet from my hand this last address receive,
This last address is all that hand can give.
In vain thy bark with spreading canvas flies,
If these sad lines shall meet thy confcious eyes,
And, taught with winning eloquence to move,
The winds and waters waft the voice of love;
That voice, O grant what dying lips implore,
Afks but one tear from thee; and asks no more.
Then, world, farewel; farewel life's fond defires,
False flatt'ring hopes, and love's tormenting fires.
Already, death, before my clofing eyes
Thy airy forms and glimm'ring shades arise.
Hark! hear I not for me yon' paffing bell
Toll forth, with frequent pause, its fullen knell ?
Waits not for me yon' fexton on his spade,
Blythe whistling o'er the grave his toil has made?
Say, why in lengthen'd pomp yon' sable train,
With measur'd steps, flow stalk along the plain ?
Say, why yon' hearse with fading flow'rs is crown'd,
And midnight gales the deep-mouth'd dirge resound?
Hail, fister worms, and thou my kindred duft,
Secure to you, my weary limbs I trust.
Dim burns life's Jamp; O Death! thy work complete,
And give my soul to gain her last retreat.
Such as before the birth of nature sway'd,
Ere springing light the first great word obey'd,
Let filence reign-come, fate, exert thy might;
And darkness wrap me in eternal night!
SEASONS.
IN IMITATION OF SPENCER,
Annuus agricolis ordo breviorque laborum
Summa mihi tradenda.
RE yet I fing the round-revolving year,
And show the toils and pastime of the swain,
At * Alcon's grave I drop a pious tear;
Right well he knew to raise his learned strain,
And, like his Milton, scorn'd the rhiming chain,
Ah! cruel fate, to tear him from our eyes;
Receive his wreath, albe the tribute's vain,
From the green fod may flowers immortal rise,
To mark the sacred spot where the sweet poet lies.
It is the cuckoo that announceth spring,
And with his † wreakful tale the spouse doth fray:
Mean while the finches harmless ditties fing,
And hop, in buxom youth, from spray to spray,
Proud as Sir Paridel of rich array.
The little wantons that draw Venus' team
Chirp am'rous thro' the grove in beavies gay;
And he, who erst gain'd Leda's fond esteem,
Now fail'd on Thamis' tide, the glory of the stream
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