Sooner fhall Vultures from their Quarry fly,
Than false Alexis for Panthea sigh.

Thy Bofom ne'er a tender Thought confest,
Sure ftubborn Flint hath arm'd thy cruel Breaft;
But hardeft Flints are worn by frequent Rains,
And the foft Drops diffolve their solid Veins;
While thy relentless Heart more hard appears,
And is not soften'd by a Flood of Tears.

Ah, what is Love! Panthea's Joys are gone
Her Liberty, her Peace, her Reason flown!
And when I view me in the wat'ry Glass,
I find Panthea now, not what she was.
As Northern Winds the new-blown Rofes blast,
And on the Ground their fading Ruins caft;
As fudden Blights corrupt the rip'ning Grain,
And of its Verdure spoil the mournful Plain;
So tort'ring Love preys on the youthful Face,
And Beauty ftrips of ev'ry Blooming Grace.

Come, gentle Sleep, relieve these weary'd Eyes, All Sorrow in thy soft Embraces dies:

There, spite of all thy perjur'd Vows, I find
Faithlefs Alexis languifhingly kind;

Sometimes he leads me by the mazy Stream,1

And pleasingly deludes me in my Dream;

Same

Sometimes he guides me to the fecret Grove,
Where all our Looks, and all our Talk is Love.
Oh, could I thus consume each tedious Day,
And in fweet Slumbers dream my Life away;
But Sleep which now no more relieves these Eyes, ́
To my
fad Soul the dear Deceit denies.

Why does the Sun dart forth his chearful Rays? Why do the Woods refound with warbling Lays? Why does the Rofe her grateful Fragrance yield, And yellow Cowflips paint the fmiling Field? Why do the Streams with murm'ring Musick flow, And why do Groves their friendly Shade beftow? Let fable Clouds the chearful Sun deface, Let mournful Silence feize the feather'd Race; No more, ye Roses, grateful Fragrance yield, Droop, droop, ye Cowflips, in the blafted Field; Stand ftill, ye murm'ring Streams, no longer flow, And let not Groves a friendly Shade bestow: With fympathizing Grief let Nature mourn, And never know the youthful Spring's return: For Alexis from the Plains is gone,

my

And with him all Panthea's Joys are flown.

Why fport the skipping Lambs in yonder Plain? Why do the Birds their tuneful Voices ftrain?

Why

Why frisk thofe Heifers in the cooling, Grovè
Their happier Life is ignorant of Love.

Oh! lead me to fome melancholy Cave,
To all my Sorrows in a living Grave:
From the dark Rock where dafhing Waters fall,
And creeping Ivy hangs the craggy Wall,
Where I may wafte in Tears my Hours away,
And r
I never know the Seafons or the Day.

Dye, dye, Panthea flie this hateful Grove,
For what is Life without the Swain. I love?

ARAM INTA.

A

TOWN ECLOGUE

By the fame Hand.

row Phœbus rofe; and with his early Beams

NON

Wak'd flumb'ring Delia from her pleafing

Her Wishes by her Fancy were fupply'd,

And in her Sleep the Nuptial Knot was ty'd,

[Dreams;

With fecret Joy fhe faw the Morning Ray

Chequer the Floor, and through the Curtains play;
That happy Morn that shall her Blifs compleat,
And, all her. Rivals envious Hopes defeat.
In hafte fhe rofe; unmindful of her Pray'rs
Flew to the Glafs, and practis'd o'er her Airs
Her new-fet Jewels round her Robe are plac'd,.
Some in a Brilliant Buckle bind her Waist;
Some round her Neck a circling Light display,
Some in her Hair diffufe a trembling Ray;"
The Silver Knot o'erlooks the Merblen Lace,
And adds becoming Beauties to her Face:
Brocaded Flow'rs o'er the gay Mantoe shine,
And the rich Stays her Taper Shape confine;
Thus all her Drefs exerts a graceful Pride,
And sporting Loves surround th' expecting Bride,
For Daphnis now attends the blushing Maid,
Before the Prieft their folemn Vows are paid;
Daphnis, for whom so many Ladies figh,
Wish of each Heart; Delight of ev'ry Eye;
This Day which ends at once all Delia's Cares,
Shall fwell a thousand Byes with fecret Tears.
Ceafe, Araminta, now no longer Grieve,
Thou ne'er from Hymen canft the Youth retrieve.
Why then in vain will Araminta mourn?
Bestow thy Love where thou may'ft hope Return

But

But ftill the wretched Maid no Comfort knows,
And with Refentment cherishes her Woes;
Alone he pines, and in these mournful Strains,
Of Daphnis' Vows, and her own Fate, complains.
Was it for this I sparkled at the Play,

And loiter'd in the Ring whole Hours away?
When if thy Chariot in the Circle fhone,

Our mutual Paffion by our Looks was known

Through the gay Crowd my watchful Glances flew, Where-e'er I pass thy grateful Eyes purfue.

Ah faithlefs Youth! too well you faw my Pain; For Eyes the Language of the Soul explain.

Think, Daphnis, think that scarce five Days are fled, Since in mine Ears thofe treach'rous Things you faid; How did you praife my Shape and graceful Air! And Woman thinks all Compliments fincere. Did not thy Tongue in Raptures fpeak thy Flame, And in foft Sighs breath Araminta's Name? Didst thou not then with Oaths thy Passion prove, And with an awful trembling, say Ah faithlefs Youth! too well you faw my

1061

I love?

For Eyes the Language of the Soul explain.

Pain:

How couldst thou thus, ungrateful Youth, deceive?

How could I thus, unguarded Maid, Believe?

Sure