English

( " Le soleil s'est couche. " )

The sun set this evening in masses of cloud,
The storm comes to-morrow, then calm be the night,
Then the Dawn in her chariot refulgent and proud,
Then more nights, and still days, steps of Time in his flight,
The days shall pass rapid as swifts on the wing,
O'er the face of the hills, o'er the face of the seas,
O'er streamlets of silver, and forests that ring

Say! what is there so terrible in Death;
That dastard Nature shrinks at it's Approach,
And basely trembles at the Dissolution
That parts the heav'nly Particle from Clay?
From that poor ailing Matter, that confines
The Breath of God! from mingling with the Saints?
'Tis want of Love — of that Seraphic Love
Which we should nourish for a blest Redeemer!
'Tis want of Confidence, and inward Light,
To reconcile, and fit us for the Change.
We've not those Longings, that the Chosen have
To be united to, and serve the Lord;

" Oh! let me speak it with a Roman spirit!
We were receiv'd, like undone prodigals
By curs'd ingrateful stewards, with cold looks,
Who still got all by those poor wretches ruin:
Like malefactors at the hands of justice.
If thus receiv'd! How paid our long arrears?
Why — as entrusted misers pay the rights
Of helpless orphans, or the widow's tears.
O soldier! for to thee, to thee, I speak it,
Bawds for the drudgery of citizens wives
Would better pay debilitated stallions."

Why for her children should the wife express
More fond affection, and the husband less?
The reason, if I rightly judge, is this,
She knows them her's, and he but thinks them his.

DAMON .

Say, while each scene so beautiful appears,
Why heaves thy bosom, and why flow thy tears?
See from the clouds the spring descends in show'rs,
The painted vallies laugh with rising flow'rs;
Smooth flow the floods, soft breathe the vernal airs;
The spring, flow'rs, floods, conspire to charm our cares.
  FLORUS . But vain the pleasure which the season yields.
The laughing vallies or the painted fields.
No more, ye floods, in silver mazes flow,

Where Cam in silver streams thro' meadows glides,
Far from Clorinda 's sight your friend resides;
Far from the happy scenes, which once I knew
Till the mean wretch his poison'd arrows threw,
And banish'd me from Langton, Loveling , You,
Such friends, as he, have licence to do ill,
But good is neither in their pow'r or will.

 Emblem of human life your letter came
With news, which tears of grief and rapture claim;
What!—tho' my conscious heart her charms commend,
My sorrow's greater for so dear friend:

A Little Snow of Nature's own Formation,
Was launch'd and fitted out, in this same Nation,
So fair to look upon, so neat and trim,
You'd think she safely might the Ocean skim.
By Females managed, Dame Virtue Master,
Prudence her Pilot; to prevent Disaster
Religion cast her Anchor, wisely thinking,
That buoy'd by Hope , they need not fear her sinking.
She, from the Harbour of paternal Love,
Was bound, the matrimonial Joys to prove.
Freighted with each Accomplishment requir'd;
The Graces Passengers, by all admir'd.

Those that are rich, and in the bloom of life,
May wed and prove the comforts of a wife;
But who postpone the bliss till past their prime,
Must pay large interest for neglect of time.

A Wanton kid from Delia stray'd,
A beauteous nymph of peerless mien,
The frisking wand'rer left the maid
To mourn its loss on Jessey's green.

In vain she cry'd, " My lamb return,
Nor fly, my kid, thou know'st not where. "
The trifler, with a lost concern,
Fled ev'ry plaint of Jessey's fair.

Young Damon heard her plaintive cries,
And hurt to see the virgin weep,
To seek her lamb, like lightning flies,
O'er woodlands, dales, and mountains steep.

Ah, hapless victim! — breathless — cold,

He stands in impudence without a peer,
Who scorns to blush, and knows not how to fear.