High tranfports are fhown to my fight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd fuch delight

As I with my Phillis had known.

O ye woods, fpread your branches apace!
To your deepest receffes I fly:

I would hide with the beafts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed fhall refound through the grove, With the fame fad complaint it begun ; How the fmil'd, and I could not but love! Was faithlefs, and I am wndone!

7

CORY DON.

A PASTORAL.

To the Memory of William Shenflone, Efq.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

I.

COME, fhepherds, we'll follow the hearfe,
We'll fee our lov'd Corydon laid;
Though forrow may blemish the verfe,
Yet let a fad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain,
In footh, he was gentle kind :
He mark'd on his elegant ftrain:

The graces that glow'd in his mind.

II.

On purpose he planted yon trees,
That birds in the covert might dwell;
He cultur'd his thyme for the bees,
But never would rifle their cell.
Ye lambkins that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat-and your mafter bemoan;

His mufic was artlefs and fweet,

His manners as mild as your own,

III.

No verdure fhall cover the vale,
No bloom on the bloffoms appear;
The fweets of the foreft fhall fail,
And winter difcolour the year.
No birds on our hedges fhall fing,
(Our hedges fo vocal before),
Since he that fhould welcome the spring
Can greet the gay feason no more.

IV.

His Phillis was fond of his praife,
And poets came round in a throng;
They liften'd-they envy'd his lays,
But which of them equall'd his fong?
Ye fhepherds, henceforward be mute,
For loft is the pastoral strain:
So give me my Corydon's flute,

And thus-let me break it in twain.

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

FROM YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.

AMAZING period; when each mountain height
Out-burns Vefuvius; rocks eternal pour
Their melted mafs, as rivers once they pour'd;
Stars rufh; and final ruin fiercely drives
Her ploughfhare o'er creation;-while aloft,
More than aftonishment! if more can be!
Far other firmament than e'er was feen,
Than e'er was thought by man! far other stars!
Stars animate, that govern these of fire!
Far other fun!-A fun, O how unlike
The Babe at Bethle'm! how unlike the man
That groan'd on Calvary!-yet He it is;
That man of forrows! O how chang'd! what pcmp!
In grandeur terrible, all heav'n defcends!
And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train.
A fwift archangel, with his golden wing,
As blots and clouds that darken and difgrace
The scene divine, fweeps ftars and funs afide,
And now, all drofs remov'd, heav'ns own pure day,
Full on the confines of our ether, flames.

Lorenzo! welcome to this fcene; the last In nature's course; the first in wisdom's thought. I his strikes, if aught can strike thee; this awakes

The most fupine; this fnatches man from death.
Roufe, roufe, Lorenzo, then! and follow me,
Where truth, the most momentous man can hear,
Loud calls my foul, and ardour wings her flight.
I find my inspiration in my theme:

The grandeur of my subject is my mufe.

At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace,
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams,
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour,
At midnight, 'tis prefum'd, this pomp must burst
From tenfold darkness; fudden, as the fpark

From fmitten steel; from nitrous grain the blaze.
Man, ftarting from his couch, fhall sleep no more!
The day is broke which never more fhall close!
Above, around, beneath, amazement all!
Terror and glory join'd in their extremes!
Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire!
All nature struggling in the pangs of death!
Doft thou not hear her? doft thou not deplore
Her ftrong convulfions, and her final groan ?
Where, where, for shelter fhall the guilty fly,
When confternation turns the good man pale?
Great day! for which all other days were made;
For which earth rofe from chaos; man from earth;
And an eternity, the date of gods,

Defcended on poor earth created man!
Great day of dread, decifion, and despair!
At thought of thee, each fublunary with
Lets go its eager grafp, and drops the world,
And catches at each reed of hope in heav'n.

Shall man alone, whofe fate, whofe final fate "Tangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought?