How chang'd my Phillis? can it be,
You love so well, and only me?
The pleasing Wonder I'll believe:
But shou'd you change your Mind again,
And doat on any other Swain ,
In Pity, Phillis , thus deceive .

Tho' Time may steal the roseate blush
On which I now so fondly gaze,
Its sternest power can never crush
The love which lit my youthful days.

Your cheek may blanch, your eye grow dim,
Your clustering locks with sorrow fade,
But still you'll be as dear to him
Who on your breast in Boyhood laid.

Who, o'er you bent whole happy hours,
Or round your form enraptured clung,
While Love and Hope transformed to flowers
The sharpest thorns that near him sprung.

Who, in his childish heart would cherish

Gak darmo prsy hozj

How vainly, vainly burns my breast.
It burns an unextinguish'd fire;
And what can still desire to rest?
What stop the ragings of desire?

Can love, can burning love be quell'd
By love's reciprocal return?
Alas! the fires my bosom held,
Still raging in that bosom burn.

Where thorns around the rose-stem grew
There pour'd I forth my plaints forlorn;

When love and the fireside inspired,
Words dropped from his eloquent lips
Like music from the golden lyre
Swept by Apollo's finger-tips.

When love and the fireside inspired,
Words dropped from his eloquent lips
Like music from the golden lyre
Swept by Apollo's finger-tips.

'Twas in that Month which follows May ,
(I never can forget the Day! )
When first I gaz'd on Phaebe 's Eyes,
When first my Heart became her Prize
In Sighs the tedious Summer past:
We cheerful Autumn saw at last;
But still I sigh'd: rude Winter came;
In Frost , and Snow I burnt the same:
Now Spring returns; still, still I burn!
When, Love! must Phaebe have her Turn

When Poets lavish all their Store,
 To paint a Mistress gay;
They prove not how their Souls adore,
 But what their Muse can say.

Fame, the great Object of their Vows,
 By various Names they woo;
And, while to Beauty Fancy bows,
 Their Souls a Breath persue.

Me no such vain Ambition movesm——
 Ye Bards, enjoy your Fame!
My Heart can simply say it loves :
 And heave M ONTELIA 's Name.

M ONTELIA 's Charms so far excell,
 They make my Soul their Slave;
She's more, at least, than I can tell;
 And all I wish to have!

Cease, soft Belinda , to deplore
Your favour'd Dove , who feels no more,
Nor can your Grief the Loss repair;
Rather compassionate your Swain ,
Who lives , and loves, and sighs in vain,
And longs for Death to end his Care .

Who can describe, in Numbers fit,
All the new Pangs by Lovers found;
When, undesigning, first they meet;
Give and receive the destin'd Wound?

Who can? Yet since this friendly Lay
Damon demands, O Muse rehearse
What govern'd Fancy bids thee say —
May Phaebus aid the flowing Verse!

Love wears a Thousand diff'rent Forms;
He wins the Heart a Thousand Ways:
Now like a Deity he storms;

I.

As lovesick Damon lay along
 Beneath a melancholy Shade ,
Sooth'd by the nightly Warbler 's Song,
 Thus the unhappy Shepherd said,

II.

Sweet Philomel , who haunt the Grove ,
 Where I lament my wretched Fate ,
Our joint Complaint , alas! is Love ,
 The Diff'rence of our Fortune great.

III.

Relief to me no Seasons bring,
 For ever doom'd, to sigh in vain;
But you, sweet Bird , who mourn in Spring ,
 In Summer Pleasures lose your Pain .

IV.

Already from yon bloomy Spray,

(A spirit with a naked sword.)

— A shadowy form I come from Babigor;
Sent by thy country to her doubting son —
O! on love's triflings waste thy soul no more:
Mina, or country — choose, and choose but one. —

(A spirit with a bent bow.)

— I visit thee from love's flower-scatter'd shore;
Three days my arrow Lada has possess'd
To sharpen — tell me, tell me, I implore —
Dost love thy country or thy Mina best? —
The midnight struck — I left the awful spot:
My eye still fix'd upon the misty shade —