M2

SONG.

Y Days have been fo wond'rous free,
The little Birds that fly

With careless ease from Tree to Tree,

Were but as blefs'd as I.

Ask gliding Waters, if a Tear

Of mine encreas'd their Stream?

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er
I lent one Sigh to them?

But now my former Days retire,
And I'm by Beauty caught,

The tender Chains of sweet Defire

Are fix'd upon my Thought.

Ye Nightingales, ye twisting Pines!

Ye Swains that haunt the Grove!

Ye gentle Echoes, breezy Winds!
Ye close Retreats of Love!

With all of Nature, all of Art,
Affift the dear Defign;

O teach a young, unpractis'd Heart,
To make my Nancy mine.

The very Thought of Change I hate,

As much as of Despair ;

Nor ever covet to be great,

Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the Paffion in my Mind Is mix'd with soft Distress;

Yet while the Fair I love is kind,

I cannot wish it Lefs.

ANA

ANACREONTIC K.

HEN Spring came on with fresh De

WHI

light,

To cheer the Soul, and charm the Sight,
While eafy Breezes, fofter Rain,
And warmer Suns falute the Plain;

"Twas then, in yonder Piny Grove,

That Nature went to meet with Love. :

Green was her Rohe, and green her Wreath, Where-e'er she trod, 'twas green beneath; Where-e'er fhe turn'd, the Pulfes beat

With new recruits of Genial Heat;
And in her Train the Birds appear,

To match for all the coming Year.

Rais'd

C 4

Rais'd on a Bank, where Daizys grew,

And Vi'lets intermix'd a blue,

She finds the Boy fhe went to find;
A thousand Pleafures wait behind,
Afide, a thousand Arrows lye,
But all unfeather'd wait to fly.

When they met, the Dame and Boy,

Dancing Graces, idle Joy,

Wanton Smiles, and airy Play,

Confpir'd to make the Scene be gay;

Love pair'd the Birds through all the Grove,
And Nature bid them fing to Love,
Sitting, hopping, flutt'ring, fing,

And pay their Tribute from the Wing,
To fledge the Shafts that idly lie,
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly,

"Tis thus, when Spring renews the Blood, They meet in ev'ry trembling Wood,

And thrice they make the Plumes agree,

And ev'ry Dart they mount with three,

And ev'ry Dart can boast a Kind,

Which fuits each proper turn of Mind.

From the tow'ring Eagle's Plume
The Gen'rous Hearts accept their Doom;
Shot by the Peacock's painted Eye
The vain and airy Lovers dye:

For careful Dames and frugal Men,
The Shafts are speckled by the Hen.
The Pyes and Parrots deck the Darts,
When Prattling wins the panting Hearts:
When from the Voice the Paffions spring,
The warbling Finch affords a Wing :

Toge