By thee more sweetly smells the rose,

And boafts a brighter dye.

By thee I tafte the lufcious fweets.
Of Cloe's nectar'd kiss,

By thee I laugh, or cheerful fing,
And feize each tranfient blifs.

When Cloe tunes her liquid voice,
Or tries foft mufic's art,

By thee the founds melodious pierce,
Like lightning to the heart.

By thee the poet's charming lays
Our various paffions move,
Now fire the foul with rage, or melt
To pity, or to love,

By thee the fcientific page

The scholar's eye delights;

By thee he thares the feast of wit,

Or wit himself indites.

With thee we tafte the joys of wine,
Of friendship, and of love;
When thou art gone we lonely pine,
Or melancholic rove.

O

CONTENT.

A PASTORAL.

BY CUNNINGHA M..

ER moorlands and mountains rude, barren, and As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young fhepherdefs fees my defpair,

[bare,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home.

Yellow fheafs from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd> Green rushes were ftrew'd on her floor,

Her cafement fweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feats at her door.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repaft,

Fresh fruits !-and fhe cull'd me the best; Whilft, thrown from my guard, by fome glances she Love flyly stole into my breaft.

I told my foft wishes-fhe sweetly replied,
(Ye virgins her voice was divine!)
I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd;
Yet take me, fond fhepherd-I'm thine.

Her air was fo modeft, her afpect fo meek,.
So fimple, yet fweet were her charms,
I kifs'd the ripe rofes that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.

[caft,

Now jocund together we tend a few fheep,.

And if---on the banks by the stream, Reclin'd on her bofom I fink into fleep, Her image ftill foftens my dream.

Together we range o'er the flow-rifing hills,.

Delighted with paftoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the ftreamlet diftills, And mark out new themes for my mufe.

To pomp or proud titles fhe ne'er did aspire,
The damfel's of humble defcent!

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

OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary;

For once I'll try my wifh to gain
Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,

That lurk'ft in woods unfeen; And oft by Cynthia's filver light Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green.

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient ftories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd,
Thou fought'ft a wondrous fpell;

Oh! deign once more t'exert thy power;
Haply fome herb or tree,

Sov'reign as juice of western flower,
Conceals a balm for me.

I afk no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please:
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove,
That fighs for peace and ease.

Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true,

Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs, the foul can wound. 'Tis pain in each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;

Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fense of mine,

Which dooms me ftill to fmart; Which pleasure can to pain refine, To pains new pangs impart.

Oh! hafte to fhed the facred balm !
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph, Indifference, bring.

At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly;

And Difappointment in the rear,

That blafts the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow,

The eye fhall then difown:

The heart that melts for others woe,

Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close,
And tranquil days shall still fucceed

To nights of calm repose.

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And fo may never-fading blifs
Thy flow ry paths attend!