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-The annual wound allur'd
The Syrien damsels to lament his fate,
In amorous ditties all a summer's day ;
While smooth Adonis from his native Rock
Ran purple to the sea suppos'd with blood
Of Thammuz yearly wounded.

MILTON.

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HERE beauteous Belmont rears íts modest brow,

To view Sabrina's silver waves below,
Liv'd LINDAMIRA; fair as Beauty's Queen,
Tke fame sweet form, the fame enchanting mein,
With all that softer elegance of mind
By genius heighten'd, and by tafte refin'a.
Yet early was the doom'd the child of care,
For love, ill-fated love subdu'd the fair.
Ab! what avails each captivating grace,
The form enchanting, or the finitha face ;
Or what cach beauty on the heaven-born mind,
The foul superior or the taste refin'd?
Beauty but ferves destruction to insure,
And sense, to feel the pang it cannot cure,

Each neighb'ring youth afpir'd to gain her hand,
And many a suitor came from many a land,
But all in vain each neighb'ring youth aspirod,
And diftant suitors all in rain admir'd.
Averse to hear, yet fearful to offend,
The lover she refus'd she made a friend :
Her meek rejection wore so mild a face,
More like acceptance feem'd it than disgrace,

Young POLYDORE, the pride of rural swains, Was wont to visit Belmont's blooming plains. Who has not heard how Polydore cou'd throw Th' unerring dart to wound the Aying doe? How leave the swiftest at the race behind, How mount the courser, and outstrip the wind? With melting sweetness, or with magic fire, Breathe the soft flute, or strike the louder lyre ? I'rom thar fam'd lyre no vulgar music sprung, The Graces tun'd it and Apollo strung.

Apollo too was once a shepherd (wain,
And fed the flock, and grac'd the ruftic plain,
He taught what charms to rural life belong,
The social sweetness, and the fylvan fong:
He taught fair Wisdom in her

grove

to wooe, Her joys how precious and her

wants how few ! The favage herds in mute attention Atdod, And ravilh'd Echo fill'd the vocal wood The facred Sisters, stooping from their sphere, Forgot their golden harps, intent to hear.

Till Heaven the scene furvey'd with jealous eyes, And Jove in envy, call'd him to the skies.

Young Polydore was rich in large domains, In smiling pastures, and in flowery plains : With these he boafcd each exterior charm, To win the prudent, and the cold to warm ;

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