Phoebus! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to diftant 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;
Where the green bow'r with rofes crown'd,
In fhowers its fragrant foliage fheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufic die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every ftrain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vaft defires!
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love infpires.
Whilft all my wifh and thine complete,
By turns we languifh and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,
Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.
Let me when nature calls to reft,
And blushing skies the morn foretell,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.
LAS! with fwift and filent pace,
Impatient time rolls on the year;
The seasons change, and nature's face
Now fweetly smiles, now frowns fevere.
"Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;
The flowers of Spring are fwept away,
And Summer fruits defert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the weftern breeze,
Now trod in duft neglected lie,
As Boreas ftrips the bending trees.
The fields that wav'd with golden grain,
As ruffet heaths are wild and bare;
Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,
Nor health, nor pleafure wanders there.
No more while thro' the midnight shade,
Beneath the moon's pale orb I ftray,
Soft pleafing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime the foars,
O! would fome god but wings fupply!
To where each morn the Spring reftores,
Companion of her flight I'd fly.
Vain wish! me fate compels to bear
The downward feafons iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.
What blifs to life can Autumn yield,
If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail;
And Ceres flies the naked field,
And flowers, and fruits, and Phœbus 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-prefs the clufters, fill the bowl;
Apollo fhoot thy parting ray:
This gives the funshine of the foul,
This god of health, and verfe, and day.
Still-ftill the jocund ftrain shall flow,
The pulfe with vigorous rapture beat;
My Stella with new charms fhall glow,
And every blifs in wine fhall meet.
No more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve diftills the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Ufurping darkness shares the day;
Her mifts restrain the force of light,
And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.
By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,
With fighs we view the hoary hill, The leaflefs wood, the naked field,
The fnow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No mufic warbles thro' the grove,
No vivid colours paint the plain;
No more with devious fteps I rove
Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempeft roars,
Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend; Hafte, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid let art fupply
With light and heat my little sphere;
Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a conftellation here.
Let mufic 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 mufic charm-tho' Stella fings;
Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.
Catch then, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a fhort Summer-man a flower,
He dies-alas! How foon he dies!
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