The gods to Bacchus gave the flower, To grace him in the genial hour.
O DE LIV. Grown YOUNG.
WHEN fprightly youths my eyes furvey,
I too am young, and I am gay:
In dance my active body swims,
And sudden pinions lift my limbs.
Hafte, crown, Cybaba, crown my brows
With garlands of the fragrant rofe!
Hence, hoary age !---I now am strong,
And dance, a youth among the young.
Come then, my friends, the goblet drain !
Blest juice !---I feel thee in each vein !
See! how with active bounds I fpring!
How ftrong, and yet how sweet, I fing!
How blest am I who thus excell
In pleafing arts of trifling well!
THE ftately fteed expreffive bears
A mark imprinted on his hairs:
The turban that adorns the brows
Of Afia's fons, the Parthian fhows:
And marks betray the lover's heart,
Deeply engrav'd by Cupid's dart:
I plainly read them in his eyes,
That look too foolish or too wise.
O DE LVI.
ALAS! the powers of life decay!
My hairs are fall'n, or changed to grey!
The fmiling bloom, and youthful grace,
Is banish'd from my faded face!
Thus man beholds, with weeping eyes,
Himfelf half-dead before he dies.
For this, and for the grave, I fear,
And pour the never-ceafing tear!
A dreadful profpect strikes my eye,
I foon must ficken, foon must die.
For this the mournful groan I fhed,
I dread-alas! the hour I dread!
What eye can stedfastly survey
Death, and its dark tremendous way?
For foon as fate has clos'd our eyes,
Man dies for ever, ever dies!
All pale, all fenfelefs in the urn!
Never, ah! never to return.
ONCE more, not uninfpir'd, the ftring
I waken, and spontaneous fing:
No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim,
That lifts ambition into fame:
My voice unbidden tunes the lay:
Some god impells, and I obey.
Liften, ye groves!---The Muse
A facred song in Phrygian airs ;
Such as the fwan expiring fings,
Melodious by Cäyster's fprings,
While listening winds in filence hear,
And to the gods the mufic bear.
Celestial Muse! attend, and bring
Thy aid, while I thy Phoebus fing:
To Phoebus and the Mufe belong
The laurel, lyre, and Delphic fong.
Begin, begin the lofty ftrain!
How Phoebus lov'd, but lov'd in vain!
How Daphne fled his guilty flame,
And fcorn'd a god that offer'd shame.
With glorious pride his vows the hears,
And heaven, indulgent to her prayers,
To laurel chang'd the nymph, and gave
Her foliage to reward the brave.
Ah! how, on wings of love convey'd,
He flew to clasp the panting maid!
Now, now o'ertakes 1---but heaven deceives
His hope---he feizes only leaves.
Why fires my raptur'd breast? ah! why
Ah! whither ftrives my foul to fly?
I feel the pleafing frenzy ftrong,
Impulfive to fome nobler fong:
Let, let the wanton fancy play,
But guide it, left it devious stray.
But oh in vain, my Mufe denies
Her aid, a flave to lovely eyes;
Suffice it to rehearse the pains
Of bleeding nymphs, and dying fwains;
Nor dare to wield the fhafts of Love,
That wound the gods, and conquer Jove.
I yield! adieu the lofty ftrain!
I am Anacreon once again :
Again the melting song I play,
Attemper'd to the vocal lay:
See! fee! how with attentive ears
The youths imbibe the nectar'd airs !
And quaff, in lowery fhades reclin'd,
My precepts, to regale the mind.
Of Criticism,
Of partial Critics,
Of envious and malicious Critics,
The Third Chapter of Habbakkuk paraphrafed. An
Ode. Written in 1710,
To Belinda, on her Sickness, and Recovery,
To Belinda, on her Apron embroider'd with Arms
and Flowers,
Part of the 38th and 39th Chapters of Job. A Para-
phrase,
Melancholy: An Ode, occafion'd by the Death of
a beloved Daughter, 1723,
Daphnis and Lycidas. A Paftoral,
The First Ode of Horace tranflated,
An Epiftle to my Friend Mr. Elijah Fenton, Author
of Mariamne, a Tragedy, 1726,
A Dialogue between a Lady and her Looking Glass, while fhe had the Green-Sickness,
The Seat of War in Flanders, &c.
To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Cornwallis,
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