Then, world, farewel; farewel life's fond defires,
Falfe flatt'ring hopes, and love's tormenting fires.
Already, death, before my clofing eyes

Thy airy forms and glimm'ring fhades arife.
Hark! hear I not for me yon' paffing bell
Toll forth, with frequent paufe, its fullen knell ?
Waits not for me yon' fexton on his spade,
Blythe whiftling o'er the grave his toil has made?
Say, why in lengthen'd pomp yon' fable train,
With measur'd steps, flow stalk along the plain ?
Say, why yon' hearfe with fading flow'rs is crown'd,
And midnight gales the deep-mouth'd dirge refound?
Hail, fifter worms, and thou my kindred duft,
Secure to you, my weary limbs I trust.

Dim burns life's lamp; O Death! thy work complete,

And give my foul to gain her laft retreat.

Such as before the birth of nature sway'd,
Ere fpringing light the first great word obey'd,
Let filence reign-come, fate, exert thy might;
And darkness wrap me in eternal night!

THE

THE

SEASON S.

IN IMITATION OF SPENCER,

E

BY MOSES MENDEZ, Esq.

SPRIN G.

Annuus agricolis ordo breviorque laborum

Summa mihi tradenda.

Prædium Rufticum.

RE yet I fing the round-revolving year,
And fhow the toils and paftime of the fwain,
At Alcon's grave I drop a pious tear;

*

Right well he knew to raise his learned ftrain,
And, like his Milton, fcorn'd the rhiming chain.
Ah! cruel fate, to tear him from our eyes;
Receive his wreath, albe the tribute's vain,'
From the green fod may flowers immortal rise,
To mark the facred spot where the sweet poet lies.

It is the cuckoo that announceth fpring,
And with his wreakful tale the spouse doth fray:
Mean while the finches harmless ditties fing,
And hop, in buxom youth, from spray to spray,
Proud as Sir Paridel of rich array.

The little wantons that draw Venus' team
Chirp am'rous thro' the grove in beavies gay;
And he, who erft gain'd Leda's fond esteem,

Now fail'd on Thamis' tide, the glory of the stream I

*The late Mr. Thomson.

+ Revengeful.

U

Proud

Proud as the Turkish foldan, chaunticleer
Sees, with delight, his numerous race around:
fresh favours to each female near ;

He

grants

For love as well as cherifaunce renown'd.

The waddling dame that did the Gauls confound,
Her tawny fons doth lead to rivers cold;

*

While Juno's dearling, with majestic bound,

To charm his + leman doth his train unfold,

That glows with vivid green, that flames with burning gold.

The balmy cowflip gilds the smiling plain,
The virgin fnow-drop boasts her filver hue,
An hundred tints the gaudy daisy stain,
And the meek violet, in amis blue,

Creeps low to earth, and hides from public view:
But the rank nettle rears her creft on high;
So ribaulds loofe their front unblushing fhew,
While modeft merit doth neglected lie,

And pines in lonely fhade, unfeen of vulgar eye.
See all around the gall-lefs culvers bill,
Mean while the nightingale's becalming lays
Mix with the plaintive music of the rill,
The which in various || gyres the meadow § bays.
Behold! the welkin burfts into a blaze!
Faft by the car of light the nimble hours,

In fongs of triumph, hail his genial rays,

And, as they ‡‡ wend to Thetis' cooling bow'rs,

They bound along the fky, and ftrew the heavens with flowers.

* Darling. † Lover. Doves, Circles, or windings. § Bathes.

2

‡‡ Go.

And

And now the human bofom melts to love;
The raptur'd bard awakes his skilful lyre;
By running ftreams, or in the laurel grove,
He tunes to amorous notes his founding wire:
All, all is harmony, and all defire.

The happy numbers charm the blooming maid,
Her blushing cheeks pronounce her heart on fire,
She now confents, then fhuns th' embow'ring fhade,
With faint reluctance yields; defirous, yet afraid.

Now ruftic Cuddy, with untutor❜d throat,
(Tho' much admir'd, I ween, of nymph and fwain)
By various fongs would various ends promote.
Seeks he to prove that woman's vows are vain!
He Bateman's fortune tells, a baleful strain!
And if, to honour Britain he be led,

He fings a 'prentice bold, in londs profane,
Who, all unarm'd, did ftrike two lions dead,

Tore forth their favage hearts, and did a princess wed.

But hark! the bag-pipe fummons to the green,
The jocund bag-pipe, that awaketh sport;
The blithefome laffes, as the morning sheen,
Around the flower-crown'd may-pole quick refort:
The gods of pleasure here have fix'd their court.
Quick on the wing the flying moment feize,
Nor build up ample fchemes, for life is fhort,
Short as the whifper of the paffing breeze.

Yet, ah in vain I preach-mine heart is ill at ease.

1

B

SU M M E E R.

Eneath yon* fnubby oak's extended shade

me mye eye of day:

Safe let me hide me from the

Nor fhall the dog-ftar this retreat invade,

As thro' the heavens he speeds his burning way:

The fultry lion rages for his prey.

Ah, Phœbus! quench thy wild destroying fire,
Each flower, each fhrub doth fink beneath thy ray,
Save the fresh laurel, that shall ne'er expire:

The leaves that crown a bard may brave celestial ire.

Or fhall I hie to mine own hermitage,

Round which the wanton vine her arms doth wind,
There may I lonely turn the facred page,
Improve my reafon, and amend my mind;
Here 'gainst life's ills a remedy I find.

An hundred flowers embofs the verdant ground;
A little brook doth my fweet cottage bind,

Its waters yield a melancholy found,

And foothe to study deep, or lull to fleep profound.

The playful infect hopping in the grafs

Doth tire the hearer with his fonnet fhrill;

T

The pool-fprung gnat on founding wing doth pass,
And on the ramping fteed doth fuck his fill;

Ah me, can little creatures work fuch ill!

* Knotty.

Starting, flying-out,

The