No serenades to break her rest,

Nor

songs

her slumbers to molest,

With my fa, la, la.

The fragrant flowers that once would bloom And flourish in her hair,

Since she no longer breathes perfume

Their odours to repair,

Must fade, alas! and wither now,

As placed on any common brow,

With my fa, la, la.

Her lip, so winning and so meek,
No longer has its charms;
As well she might by whistling seek

To lure us to her arms;

Affected once, 'tis real now,

As her forsaken gums may show,

With any fa, la, la.

The down that on her chin so smooth
So lovely once appear'd,

That, too, has left her with her youth,
Or sprouts into a beard;

As fields, so green when newly sown,
With stubble stiff are overgrown,

With my fa, la, la.

Then, Celia, leave your apish tricks,
And change your girlish airs,
For ombre, snuff, and politics,

Those joys that suit your years;
No patches can lost youth recall,
Nor whitewash prop a tumbling wall,
With my fa, la, la.

Drayton, March, 1753.

AN ATTEMPT AT THE MANNER OF WALLER.

DID not thy reason and thy sense,
With most persuasive eloquence,
Convince me that obedience due
None may so justly claim as you,
By right of beauty you would be
Mistress o'er my heart and me.

Then fear not I should e'er rebel,
My gentle love! I might as well
A forward peevishness put on,
And quarrel with the mid-day sun;
Or question who gave him a right
To be so fiery and so bright.

Nay, this were less absurd and vain
Than disobedience to thy reign;
His beams are often too severe :
But thou art mild, as thou art fair;

First from necessity we own your sway,
Then scorn our freedom, and by choice obey.

A SONG.

THE sparkling eye, the mantling cheek,
The polish'd front, the snowy neck,

How seldom we behold in one!
Glossy locks, and brow serene,
Venus' smiles, Diana's mien,

All meet in you, and you alone.

Beauty, like other powers, maintains
Her empire, and by union reigns;

Each single feature faintly warms:
But where at once we view display'd
Unblemish'd grace, the perfect maid
Our eyes, our ears, our heart alarms.

So when on earth the god of day
Obliquely sheds his temper'd ray,

Through convex orbs the beams transmit, The beams that gently warm'd before, Collected, gently warm no more,

But glow with more prevailing heat.

A SONG.

On the green margin of the brook
Despairing Phyllida reclined,
Whilst every sigh, and every look,
Declared the anguish of her mind.

Am I less lovely then? (she cries,
And in the waves her form survey'd ;)
Oh yes, I see my languid eyes,

My faded cheek, my colour fled:

These eyes no more like lightning pierced, These cheeks grew pale, when Damon first His Phillida betray'd.

The rose he in his bosom wore,

How oft upon my breast was seen! And when I kiss'd the drooping flower, Behold, he cried, it blooms again!

The wreaths that bound my braided hair,
Himself next day was proud to wear
At church, or on the green.

While thus sad Phyllida lamented,
Chance brought unlucky Thyrsis on;
Unwillingly the nymph consented,

But Damon first the cheat begun.
She wiped the fallen tears away,

Then sigh'd and blush'd, as who should say Ah! Thyrsis, I am won.

UPON A VENERABLE RIVAL.

FULL thirty frosts since thou wert young
Have chill'd the withered grove,
Thou wretch! and hast thou lived so long,
Nor yet forgot to love?

Ye Sages! spite of your pretences
To wisdom, you must own
Your folly frequently commences
When you acknowledge none.

Not that I deem it weak to love,
Or folly to admire;

But ah! the pangs we lovers prove
Far other years require.

Unheeded on the youthful brow
The beams of Phoebus play;
But unsupported Age stoops low
Beneath the sultry ray.

For once, then, if untutor'd youth,
Youth unapproved by years,
May chance to deviate into truth,
When your experience errs;

For once attempt not to despise
What I esteem a rule:

Who early loves, though young, is wise,-
Who old, though grey, a fool.

ON THE PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD.

FROM THE LATIN OF VINCENT BOURNE.

SWEET babe, whose image here express'd

Does thy peaceful slumbers show;

Guilt or fear, to break thy rest,
Never did thy spirit know.

Soothing slumbers, soft repose,
Such as mock the painter's skill,

Such as innocence bestows,

Harmless infant, lull thee still !

MORTALS! around your destined heads
Thick fly the shafts of Death,
And lo! the savage spoiler spreads

A thousand toils beneath.

In vain we trifle with our fate,
Try every art in vain ;

At best we but prolong the date,
And lengthen out our pain.