Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before; Let thofe who always lov'd, now love the more.

She paints the purple year with vary'd show, Tips the green gem, and makes the bloffom glow. She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze, Expand to leaves, and fhade the naked trees. When gathering damps the misty nights diffuse, She sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews; Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray, And, kept from falling, feem to fall away. A gloffy freshness hence the rose receives, And blushes sweet through all her filken leaves (The drops defcending through the filent night, While stars ferenely roll their golden light): Close till the morn, her humid veil fhe holds; Then deckt with virgin pomp the flower unfolds. Soon will the morning blush: ye maids! prepare, In rofy garlands bind your flowing hair; 'Tis Venus' plant: the blood fair Venus shed, O'er the gay beauty pour'd immortal red; From Love's foft kiss a sweet ambrofial smell Was taught for ever on the leaves to dwell; From gems, from flames, from orient rays of light, The richest luftre makes her purple bright; And the to-morrow weds; the sporting gale Unties her zone, fhe burfts the verdant veil; Through all her sweets the rifling lover flies, And as he breathes, her glowing fires arife.

Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before ; Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Now fair Dione to the myrtle grove

Sends the gay Nymphs, and sends her tender love. And shall they venture? Is it safe to go,

While Nymphs have hearts, and Cupid wears a bow?
Yes, fafely venture, 'tis his mother's will;
He walks unarm'd, and undefigning ill,

His torch extinct, his quiver ufelefs hung,
His arrows idle, and his bow unftrung.

And yet, ye Nymphs, beware; his eyes have charms;
And love that's naked, ftill is love in arms.
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
From Venus' bower to Delia's lodge repairs
A virgin train complete with modest airs:
"Chafte Delia, grant our fuit! or fhun the wood,
"Nor ftain this facred lawn with favage blood.
"Venus, O Delia! if fhe could perfuade,
"Would ask thy prefence, might fhe ask a maid."
Here chearful quires for three aufpicious nights
With fongs prolong the pleafurable rites:
Here crouds in measure lightly-decent rove ;
Or feek by pairs the covert of the grove,
Where meeting greens for arbours arch above,
And mingling flowrets ftrow the scenes of love.
Here dancing Ceres fhakes her golden fheaves;
Here Bacchus revels, deck'd with viny leaves :
Here Wit's enchanting God, in laurel crown'd,
Wakes all the ravish'd hours with filver found.
Ye fields, ye forests, own Dione's reign,
And Delia, huntress Delia, fhun the plain.

Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before ;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Gay with the bloom of all her opening year,
The Queen at Hybla bids her throne appear;
And there prefides; and there the favourite band
(Her fmiling graces) fhare the great command.
Now, beauteous Hybla! drefs thy flowery beds
With all the pride the lavish season sheds;
Now all thy colours, all thy fragrance yield,
And rival Enna's aromatic field.

To fill the presence of the gentle court,

From every quarter rural nymphs resort,

From woods, from mountains, from their humble vales,
From waters curling with the wanton gales.
Pleas'd with the joyful train, the laughing queen
In circles feats them round the bank of green;

And, "Lovely girls, she whispers, guard your hearts :

My boy, though stript of arms, abounds in arts.'

Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before ;

Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
Let tender grafs in fhaded alleys spread,
Let early flowers erect their painted head,
To-morrow's glory be to-morrow seen,
That day, old Ether wedded Earth in green,
The vernal father bid the Spring appear,
In clouds he coupled to produce the year,
The fap descending o'er her bosom ran,
And all the various forts of foul began.
By wheels unknown to fight, by secret veins
Diftilling life, the fruitful goddess reigns,

Through all the lovely realms of native day,
Through all the circled land, and circling fea;
With fertile feed fhe fill'd the pervious earth,
And ever fix'd the mystic ways of birth.

Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
'Twas she the parent, to the Latian shore
Through various dangers Troy's remainder bore.
She won Lavinia for her warlike son,

And, winning her, the Latian empire won.
She gave to Mars the maid, whofe honour'd womb
Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
Decoy'd by fhows, the Sabine dames she led,
And taught our vigorous youth the way to wed.
Hence fprung the Romans, hence the race divine
Through which great Cæfar draws his Julian line.
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before ;
Let thofe who always lov'd, now love the more.
In rural feats the foul of pleasure reigns;
The life of Beauty fills the rural scenes;
Ev'n Love (if Fame the truth of Love declare)
Drew first the breathings of a rural air.
Some pleafing meadow pregnant Beauty preft,
She laid her infant on its flowery breast,
From Nature's sweets he fipp'd the fragrant dew,
He fmil'd, he kifs'd them, and by kiffing grew.
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.

Now bulls o'er stalks of broom extend their fides, Secure of favours from their lowing brides.

Now ftately rams their fleecy conforts lead,
Who bleating follow through the wandering shade.
And now the Goddess bids the birds appear,
Raise all their music, and falute the year:
Then deep the fwan begins, and deep the fong
Runs o'er the water where he fails along :
While Philomela turns a treble strain,
And from the poplar charms the listening plain,
We fancy love expreft at every note,

It melts, it warbles, in her liquid throat.
Of barbarous Tereus fhe complains no more,
But fings for pleasure, as for grief before.
And still her graces rise, her airs extend,
And all is filence till the Syren end.

How long in coming is my lovely Spring!
And when shall I, and when the swallow fing?
Sweet Philomela, cease:-Or here I fit,

"Tis

gone,

And filent lofe my rapturous hour of wit:
the fit retires, the flames decay,
My tuneful Phœbus flies averse away.
His own Amycle thus, as ftories run,
But once was filent, and that once undone.
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before;
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.