The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turn'd to wondrous mufic as they fly;
And soft the swelling founds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below,

My downy fleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And while my thoughts were fettling, thus I fpoke.
Thou beauteous vifion! on the foul imprefs'd,
When most my reason would appear to rest,
'Twas fure with pencils dipt in various lights
Some curious Angel limn'd 'thy facred fights;
From blazing funs his radiant gold he drew,
While moons the filver gave, and air the blue.
I'll mount the roving winds expanded wing,
And feek the facred hill, and light to fing;
('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays,
Obedient to thy fummons, found with praise.
But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame,
I take for truth the flatteries of a dream;
And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast,
And faintly practise-what deferves it most.
Indulgent Lord! whofe gracious love displays
Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease!
Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss;
Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.

ACCHUS.

BACCHUS,

Or, the DRUNKEN METAMORPHOSIS.

AS Bacchus, ranging at his leifure,

(Jolly Bacchus, king of pleasure)!

Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,
And all his thoufand airy fancies,

Alas! he quite forgot the while
His favourite vines in Lefbos ifle.

The god, returning ere they dy'd,
Ah! fee my jolly fauns, he cry'd,
The leaves but hardly born are red,
And the bare arms for pity fpread:
The beafts afford a rich manure;
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure;
Up the mountains, o'er the vales,
Through the woods, and down the dales;
For this, if full the cluster grow,
Your bowls fhall doubly overflow.

So chear'd with more officious hafte
They bring the dung of every beast;
The loads they wheel, the roots they bare,
They lay the rich manure with care;
While oft he calls to labour hard,

And names as oft the red reward.

The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear,
The thickening clusters load the year;
The feafon swiftly purple grew,

The grapes hung dangling deep with blue.

A vine

A vineyard ripe, a day ferene
Now calls them all to work again.
The fauns through every furrow shoot
To load their flafkets with the fruit;
And now the vintage early trod,
The wines invite the jovial God.
Strow the rofes, raife the fong,
See the mafter comes along;
Lufty Revel join'd with Laughter,
Whim and Frolic follow after:
The fauns afide the vats remain,

To show the work, and reap the gain.
All around, and all around,

They fit to riot on the ground;

A veffel ftands amidst the ring,

And here they laugh, and there they fing

Or rife a jolly jolly band,

And dance about it hand in hand;

Dance about, and fhout amain,

Then fit to laugh and fing again.
Thus they drink, and thus they play
The fun and all their wits away.
But, as an ancient author fung,
The vine manur'd with every dung,
From every creature Arangely drew
A twang
of brutal nature too;
'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns
New turns of humour feiz'd the fauns.

Here one was crying out, By Jove!
Another, Fight me in the grove;

This wounds a friend, and that, the trees;
The lion's temper reign'd in these.
Another grins, and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout,
And talks impertinently free,

And twenty talk the fame as he :
Chattering, idle, airy, kind:

These take the monkeys turn of mind,

Here one, that faw the Nymphs which stood,

To peep upon them from the wood,
Skulks off to try if any maid

Be lagging late beneath the fhade;
While loofe difcourfe another raifes
In naked Nature's plaineft phrafes,
And every glass he drinks enjoys,
With change of nonfenfe, luft, and noise;
Mad and careless, hot and vain :

Such as thefe the goat retain.

Another drinks and cafts it up, And drinks, and wants another cup; Solemn, filent, and sedate,

Ever long, and ever late,

Full of meats, and full of wine:

This takes his temper from the fwine.

Here fome who hardly feem to breathe Drink, and hang the jaw beneath. Gaping, tender, apt to weep:

Their nature's alter'd by the sheep.

'Twas thus one autumn all the crew

(If what the Poets say be true)

While

While Bacchus made the merry feast,

Inclin'd to one or other beaft:
And fince, 'tis faid, for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lefbos ifle.

THE HORSE AND

THE OLIVE.

W

ITH moral tale let ancient Wifdom move,
Whilft thus I fing to make the moderns wife :
Strong Neptune once with fage Minerva ftrove,
And rifing Athens was the victor's prize.

By Neptune, Plutus (guardian power of gain);
By great Minerva, bright Apollo-stood:
But Jove fuperior bade the fide obtain,

Which best contriv'd to do the nation good.

Then Neptune ftriking, from the parted ground
The warlike Horfe came pawing on the plain,
And as it toft its mane, and pranc'd around,
By this, he cries, I'll make the people reign.
The Goddess, smiling, gently bow'd her spear,
And rather thus they fhall be blefs'd, the faid :
Then upwards fhooting in the vernal air,

With loaded boughs the fruitful Olive spread.
Jove faw what gift the rural powers defign'd;
And took th' impartial fcales, refolv'd to fhow,
If greater blifs in warlike pomp we find,

Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow.