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THE MID S U M M E R's WIS H.
AN O D E.
Phoebus ! down the western sky, Far hence diffuse thy burning ray, Thy light to distant worlds fupply,
And wake them to the cares of day.
Come gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling breeze,
And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet nature spreads ;
In showers its fragrant foliage sheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove;
strain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart !
Come, born to fill its vaft desires ! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.
Whilst all my wish and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our fighs repeat,
Our murmurs-marmuring brooks return.
Let me when nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the mom foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breaft,
And bid the waking world farewell.
A LAS! with swift and filent pace,
Impatient time rolls on the year ; The seasons change, and nature's face
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns fevere. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away,
And Summer fruits desert the bough, The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie,
As Boreas strips the bending trees.
The fields that way'd with golden grain,
As russet heaths are wild and bare ;
Nor health, nor pleasure wanders there.
No more while thro' the midnight shade,
Beneath the moon's pale orb I ftray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime the foars,
O! would some god but wings supply ! To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight I'd fly.
Vain with! me fate compels to bear
The downward seasons iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.
What bliss to life can Autumn yield,
If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail ; And Ceres flies the naked field,
And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?
Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,
To cheer me in the darkening hour? The grape remains ! the friend of wit,
In love, and mirth, of mighty power.
Hafte-press the clusters, fill the bowl ;
Apollo ! shoot thy parțing ray: This gives the sunshine of the soul,
This god of health, and verse, and day.
Still-still the jocund strain shall flow,
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms shall glow,
And every bliss in wine shall meet.
AN OD E. N.
O more the morn, with tepid rays,
Nor gentle eve distills the dew.
Usurping darkness fhares the day;
And Phæbus holds a doubtful sway. By gloomy twilight half reveald,
With fighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,
The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No music warbles thro' the
grove, No vivid colours paint the plain ; No more with devious steps I rove
Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempest roars,
Congeald, impetuous showers descend ; Hafte, close the window, bat the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid let art supply
With light and heat my little sphere ; Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a constellation here.
Let music found the voice of joy!
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale ; Let love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When mirth’s gay tale shall please no more ; Nor music charm-tho' Stella sings ;
Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore,
Catch then, O! 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 !