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7 Let Music sound the voice of joy,

Or Mirth repeat the jocund tale ; Let Love his wanton wiles employ, And o'er the season wine prevail

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8 Yet Time life's dreary winter brings,

When Mirth's gay tale shall please no more, Nor music charm, though Stella sings,

Nor love nor wine the spring restore.

9 Catch, then, oh! catch the transient hour,

Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a short summer-man a flower,

He dies—alas ! how soon he dies !

THE WINTER'S WALK.

1 BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,

What dreary prospects round us riseThe naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies.

2 Nor only through the wasted plain,

Stern Winter ! is thy force confess'd ; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,

I feel thy power usurp my breast.

3 Enlivening hope, and fond desire,

Resign the heart to spleen and care ; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire,

And rapture saddens to despair.

4 In groundless hope and causeless fear,

Unhappy man ! behold thy doom ;
Still changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom.

5 Tired with vain joys, and false alarms,

With mental and corporeal strife,
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,

And screen me from the ills of life!

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ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NETWORK

PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING.

THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would shine
If wrought by any hand but thine-
Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart.

Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine ;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain ;
Why, Stella, was it then decreed,
The heart once caught, should ne'er be freed?

D

EPIGRAM

ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.

AUGUSTUS still survives in Maro's strain, And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, For Nature form'd the poet for the king.

STELLA IN MOURNING.

When lately Stella's form display'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,
The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.
• Fate ! snatch away the bright disguise, ,
And let the goddess trust her eyes.'
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair,
And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer ;
But brighten'd by the sable dress,
As Virtue rises in distress,
Since Stella still extends her reign,
Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain ?
The adoring Youth and envious Fair,
Henceforth shall form one common prayer ;
And Love and Hate alike implore
The skies--that Stella mourn no more.

TO STELLA.

1 Nor the soft sighs of vernal gales,

The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

2 Not all the gems on India's shore,

Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve,
To form one wish my soul can move.

3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,

And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize ;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain-
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella ! thou art mine,

VERSES

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A

LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE.

What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create,
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!

The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand),
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Qft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads,
The unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart ;
Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

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At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain,
So long renown'd in B n’s deathless strain ?
Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace ! might inspire
Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre ;
For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face,
Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace.

1. Lady Firebrace:' daughter of P. Bacon, Ipswich, married three times—, to Philip Evers, Esq., to Sir Corbell Firebrace, and to William Campbell, uncle of the Duke of Argyle.

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