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Of even valour's temperate heat,
And toils to stubborn patience sweet;
Of nodding plumes and burnisht arms,
And glory's bright terrific charms,
The potent sounds like lightning dart
Resistless through the glowing heart;
Of power to lift the fixed soul
High o'er fortune's proud controul;
Kindling deep, prophetic musing, A
Love of beauteous death infusing;
Scorn, and unconquerable hate
Of tyrant pride's unhallow'd state.
The boy abash'd, and half afraid,
Beheld each chaste immortal maid:
Pallas spread her ægis there;
Mars stood by with threat'ning air;
And stern Diana's icy look
With sudden chill his bosom struck.
"Daughters of Jove, receive the child,"
The queen of beauty said, and smiled:
(Her rosy breath perfumed the air,
And scatter'd sweet contagion there;
Relenting nature learnt to languish,
And sicken'd with delightful anguish :)
"Receive him, artless yet and
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue;
Conduct him through your fav'rite bowers,
Enrich'd with fair perennial flowers,
To solemn shades, and springs that lie
Remote from each unhallow'd eye;
Teach him to spell those mystic names
That kindle bright immortal flames;
And guide his young unpractised feet
To reach coy Learning's lofty seat."
Ah luckless hour! mistaken maids!
When Cupid sought the Muses' shades ;
Of their sweetest notes beguiled
By the sly insidious child,
Now of power his darts are found
Twice ten thousand times to wound.
Now no more the slacken'd strings
Breathe of high immortal things,
But Cupid tunes the Muses' lyre
To languid notes of soft desire :
In every clime, in every tongue,
'Tis love inspires the poet's song.
Hence Sappho's soft infectious page;
Monimia's woe, Othello's rage;
Abandon'd Dido's fruitless prayer,
And Eloisa's long despair;
The garland, blest with many a vow,
For haughty Sacharissa's brow;
And, wash'd with tears, the mournful verse
That Petrarch laid on Laura's hearse.
But more than all the sister quire,
Music confess'd the pleasing fire,
Here sovereign Cupid reign'd alone;
Music and song were all his own.
Sweet as in old Arcadian plains,
The British pipe has caught the strains;
And where the Tweed's pure current glides,
Or Liffy rolls her limpid tides,
Or Thames his oozy waters leads
Through rural bowers or yellow meads,
With many an old romantic tale
Has cheer'd the lone sequester'd vale;
With many a sweet and tender lay
Deceived the tiresome summer day.
'Tis yours to cull with happy art
Each meaning verse that speaks the heart,
And fair array'd in order meet
To lay the wreath at Beauty's feet.
Ah, how sweet it is to love!
Ah stay! ah turn! ah whither would you fly, Congreve.
Ah! tell me not that jealous fear
Ah! tell me no more, my dear girl, with a sigh, Wolcott. 112
Ah! the shepherd's mournful fate!
Ah! why must words my flame reveal?
Alexis, shunn'd his fellow swains, Prior.
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd Gay.
All my past life is mine no more,
As Amoret with Phyllis sat
Sir Car Scrope.
As on a summer's day
As near a weeping spring reclined
As the snow in valleys lying,
Awake, awake, my lyre! Cowley.
Away, let nought to love displeasing,
A WRETCH long tortured with disdain,
Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit,
Blest as the immortal Gods is he,
Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
By my sighs you may discover
By the gaily circling glass
Can love be controled by advice?
Can loving father ever prove
Celia, hoard thy charms no more--
Celia, too late you would repent,
Child, with many a childish wile,
Chloe brisk and gay appears,
Chloe's the wonder of her sex,
Chloris, yourself you so excel
Come, all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled
Come, dear Amanda ! quit the town,
Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be Mrs. Barbauld.
Come, let us now resolve at last Sheffield D. of Buck.
Come, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse, Cunningham.
Come, tell me where the maid is found Little.
Come, thou rosy-dimpled boy,
Corinna cost me many a prayer,
Corinna in the bloom of youth,
Cupid, forbear thy childish arts;
Cupid, instruct an amorous swain
Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her,
Fair Amoret is gone astray,
Fair, and soft, and gay, and young,
Daphnis stood pensive in the shade,
Dear Chloe, while thus beyond measure
Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes,
Dear is my little native vale, Rogers.
Despairing beside a clear stream, Rowe.
Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes ·
Dried be that tear, my gentlest love, R. B. Sheridan. 1981
"P ifat I