English

Pleasing the Harbour Sailors find,
Long toss'd, and blown by Waves, and Wind;
In Praise wife Authors take Delight;
Tyr'd Pilgrims in Repose at Night;
Laura in a well fancy'd Gown;
The Victor in his Laurel Crown;
Drunkards in Liquor stout, and old;
And Misers in their Hoards of Gold ;
Keen Sportsinen in the Woods, and Plains;
In fleecy Flocks the rural Swains ;
But we, my charming Cloi , prove
No, Joy so sweet as that of Love!

Now all are dead that were to die to Day,
And my Dadda has moraliz'd the Play,
One would have thought there was no more to say;
But, thank good Friends, we better taught have been;
They tell us Mirth must close the Tragic Scene,
For fear the Beaux should bear away the Spleen.
Whate'er the Play, the Epilogue should burst 'em —
So all the Learn'd affirm, the unlearn'd trust 'em,
Well — We obsequiously submit to Custom.

Thus leaving all Disputes to Drama-Factors ,

When the moon o'er the mountain-branches rises,
With rays as rainbows brilliant, lo! it seems
As if thy smile upon its pale face beams
With more than lunar light: for love disguises
All objects. and in passionate fondness I
Pour'd out my heart, and wildly held dicourse
With that supernal queen, until the hoarse
Laugh of the mountains shook the starry sky.
Then to night's spectre-spirits did I cry
Impatient — and they tarried in their course,
And bid the gentle stars of heaven reply:
" We have sent forth a sister from on high,

Cloe, as sweet as vernal Flow'rs,
Lov'd Partner of my softer Hours,
As Venus fair, as Turtles kind,
Airy, and wanton as the Wind;
That you may still more charming prove,
Behold soft Ovid 's Art of Love!
But who, that to the Combat goes,
Against himself e'er arm'd his Foes?
If you are true , as you profess,
This ne'er can make you; love me less ;
If, false , you wou'd in Art excell,
'Twill teach you to deceive me well.

'Tis not alone that of Slavonia's stem,
She is a simple and a smiling flower;
Tho' the obdurate frank and saxon's power
Have sought to rase the impress of the gem.
Oh! many erring sons of Slawa know
Too little of her glories — they conspire,
Her language — their sire's fame — to overthrow,
Nor heed the frownings of celestial ire.
A heart as pure as are the pearls of dew —
An english spirit in a child-like guise —
A magic on the lips and in the eyes,
And friendship's strength, and beauty's sparkling hue.

All Hail! O awful, sage Divinity!
Goddess of Silence! hail! eternal Pow'r ,
Who knowest how the Universe was form'd,
How Nature first began! for thou wast then,
And startedst at the dread, creating Voice ,
E'en then thou wast, and still thou wilt endure,
When wearied Time , and Nature , are no more;
At Desolation thou again must start,
And the vast Globe shall fright thee with its Fall.
 Thee, solemn Being! venerable Queen!
Whose Charms the busy Vulgar never know,
Thee the wise Ancients justly did revere,

Occasion'd by some late Persecutions

I.

Goddess of the Cyprian Plains,
Where, in Ages blest, and free,
Willing Nymphs , and happy Swains
Own'd your great Divinity!

II.

While, to idle Mars resign'd,
You indulge his softer Fire,
Lo! your Matrons , whipt, and fin'd,
At your slow Revenge admire.

III.

Still shall Impotence, and Age,
Under Virtue 's rigid Face,
Nature 's Laws, and yours ingage,
And your sacred Rites disgrace?

IV.

I.

Venus , favour my Desire !
You the raging Heat inspire.
Hark! a femal Step I hear!
See the bright Corinna near!
See the Nymph whom I admire!
Venus , ever kind, and just,
Goddess , still in you I trust.
II.

Hail! Corinna Child of Love ,
Sent by Venus from above,
Tender, blooming, full of Charms ,
Welcome to a Lover 's Arms:

Upon Love's sea, our barques shall sail
No more together;
The dark'ning sky and rising gale
Bring stormy weather.

The cruel Fates, at last, sweetheart,
Our love must sever, —
Must furl our sails, drift us apart
For aye and ever.

I pray a sunny port be thine,
When storm is over;
I know whatever lot be mine,
I'm still thy lover.

Upon Love's sea, our barques shall sail
No more together;
The dark'ning sky and rising gale
Bring stormy weather.

So long as a man's heart is young,
Great is his delight in hunting.
What is there that like the chase
Keeps a man's attention fixed?
For the pursuit of winged quarry
Well-trained Hawks are what is required.
Follow the hounds as they run
Over hill and plain alike.
Pleasant, too, the sport the bow gives,
If thou art a skilful archer.
Best of all sport with the gun,
If thou handlest it with speed.
On the chase with Hawk and Gun
So much value does he set,
That to these pursuits Khush-hal