Prone on Potofi's haughty brow His fiery ftreams inceffant flow, Ripening the filver's ductile ftores;
While, in the cavern's horrid fhade, The panting Indian hides his head, And oft th' approach of eve explores.
But lo, on this deferted coaft
How faint the light! how thick the air!
Lo, arm'd with whirlwind, hail and froft,
Fierce winter defolates the year.
The fields refign their chearful bloom :
No more the breezes waft perfume;
No more the warbling waters roll:
Deferts of fnow fatigue the eye,
Black ftorms involve the louring sky,
And gloomy damps oppress the soul.
Now thro' the town promifcuous throngs
Urge the warm bowl and ruddy fire;
Harmonious dances, feftive fongs,
To charm the midnight hours confpire,
While mute and shrinking with her fears,
Each blaft the cottage-matron hears,
As o'er the hearth fhe fits alone:
At morn her bridegroom went abroad, The night is dark, and deep the road; She fighs, and wishes him at home.
But thou, my lyre, awake, arise,
And hail the sun's remoteft ray ;
Now, now he climbs the northern skies,
To-morrow nearer than to-day.
Then louder howl the stormy waste,
Be land and ocean worse defac'd, Yet brighter hours are on the wing ;
And fancy thro' the wintry glooms,
All fresh with dews and opening blooms, Already hails th' emerging spring.
O fountain of the golden day !
Could mortal vows but urge thy speed,
How soon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede!
How soon each hovering tempest fly,
That now fermenting loads the ky, Prompt on our heads to burst amain,
To rend the forest from the steep,
Or thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain !
But let not man's unequal views
Presume on nature and her laws ;
'Tis his with grateful joy to use
Th'indulgence of the sovereign cause;
Secure that health and beauty springs,
Thro' this majestic frame of things,
Beyond what he can reach to know,
And that heav'n's all-fubduing will,
With good, the progeny of ill,
Attempers every state below.
How pleafing wears the wint'ry night,
Spent with the old illuftrious dead!
While, by the taper's trembling light,
I seem thofe awful courts to tread
Where chiefs and legislators lie,
Whofe triumphs move before my eye
With every laurel fresh difplay'd;
While charm'd I taste th' Ionian song,
Or bend to Plato's god-like tongue
Refounding thro' the olive fhade.
But if the gay, well-natur'd friend
Bids leave the ftudious page awhile,
Then easier joys the foul unbend,
And teach the brow a softer smile ;
Then while the genial glafs is paid
By each to her, that fairest maid,
Whofe radiant eyes his hopes obey,
What lucky vows his bofom warm!
While absence heightens every charm,
And love invokes returning May.
May! thou delight of heav'n and earth,
When will thy happy morn arise?
When the dear place which gave her birth
Reftore Lucinda to my eyes?
There while she walks the wonted grove,
The feat of mufic and of love,
Bright as the one primæval fair,
Thither, ye filver-founding lyres,
Thither, gay fmiles and young defires,
Chafte hope and mutual faith, repair.
And if believing love can read
The wonted foftness in her eye,
Then fhall my fears, O charming maid!
And every pain of absence die;
Then oftner to thy name attun'd,
And rifing to diviner found,
I'll wake the free Horatian fong:
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale,
And echo, down the bordering vale,
The liquid melody prolong.
HY, Celia, is your spreading waist
So loose, so negligently lac'd?
Why muft the wrapping bed-gown hide
Your snowy bofom's fwelling pride?
How ill that drefs adorns your head,
Diftain'd, and rumpled, from the bed!
Those clouds, that fhade your blooming face,
A little water might difplace,
As Nature, ev'ry morn, bestows
The crystal dew, to cleanse the rofe:
Those treffes, as the raven black,
That wav'd in ringlets down your back,
Uncomb'd, and injur'd by neglect,
Deftroy the face which once they deckt.
Whence this forgetfulness of drefs?
Pray, madam, are you married? Yes.
Nay, then, indeed, the wonder ceases ;
No matter, then, how loose your dress is
The end is won, your fortune's made;
Your fifter, now, may take the trade.
Alas! what pity 'tis, to find.
This fault in half the female kind!
From hence proceed averfion, ftrife,
And all that fours the wedded life.
Beauty can only point the dart;
'Tis neatness guides it to the heart;
Let neatness, then, and beauty strive
To keep a wav'ring flame alive.
'Tis harder far (you'll find it true)
To keep the conqueft, than fubdue;
Admit us once behind the screen,
What is there farther to be feen?
A newer face may raife the flame;
But ev'ry woman is the fame.
Then ftudy, chiefly, to improve
The charm that fix'd your husband's love;
Weigh well his humour. Was it drefs
That gave your beauty power to blefs?
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