EMMA. O day the fairest sure that ever rose ! Period and end of anxious Emma's woes! Sire of her joy, and source of her delight; O! wing'd with pleasure take thy happy flight, Will he be ever kind, and just, and good? 681 None, none there is; the thought was rash and vain; A falfe idea, and a fancy'd pain. 686 Doubt fhall for ever quit my ftrengthen❜d heart, And anxious jealoufie's corroding smart; No other inmate fhall inhabit there, But foft Belief, young Joy, and pleafing Care. Hence let the tides of plenty ebb and flow, If the reclaims the temporary boon, 695 And unconcern'd return the goods fhe lent. 700 Nor happiness can I, nor mifery feel, Yet while with close delight and inward pride 710 With power invested, and with pleasure chear'd; Which human vows at smoaking shrines implore; My life, fubfervient only to thy joy; And at my death to blefs thy kindness shown 716 To her, who of mankind could love but thee alone. WHILE thus the conftant pair alternate said, 721 Joyful above them and around them play'd His happy skill might proper arms imploy, The queen of beauty ftopt her bridled doves; Now, Mars, she said, let Fame exalt her voice; And when, as prudent Saturn fhall compleat To recollect unweary'd Marlbro's toils, 746 Old Rufus' hall unequal to his fpoils; The British foldier from his high command Glorious, and Gaul thrice vanquish'd by his hand : Let her at least perform what I defire; 750 With fecond breath the vocal brass inspire, 755 And, when thy tumults and thy fights are paft; And when thy laurels at my feet are caft; Faithful may'st thou, like British Henry, prove: And, Emma-like, let me return thy love. Renown'd for truth, let all thy fons appear; And constant Beauty shall reward their care. Mars fmil'd, and bow'd: the Cyprian deity Turn'd to the glorious ruler of the sky; 760 And thou, fhe fmiling faid, great god of days And verfe, behold my deed, and fing my praise; As on the British earth, my fav'rite isle, Thy gentle rays and kindeft influence fmile, 765 every To celebrated sports and floral play Be fet afide; and, in the softeft lays Of thy poetic fons, be folemn praise, To the true Lover, and the Nut-brown Maid. 770 TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN LOVE. A TALE. BY THE SAME. FROM ROM public noife, and factious ftrife, Take me, my Celia, to thy breaft; Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell; 5 10 To painted roofs, and fhining fpires, But oh! my Celia, when thy fwain 15 May heav'n around his destin'd head The choiceft of its curfes fhed! |