And Cynthia pales her filver ray
'Before th' approach of golden Day,
Which on yon mountain's misty height,
Stands tiptoe with his gladfome Light.
Now the fhrill Lark in æther floats,
And carols wild her liquid notes;
While Phoebus, in his lufty pride,
His flaring beams flings far and wide.
Cynthia farewell the penfive Mufe,
No more her feeble flight purfues,
But all unwilling takes her way,
And mixes with the buzz of Day.
SON G.
HE Beauty which the Gods bestow
Did they but give it for a show?
No - 'twas lent thee from above, To shed its Luftre o'er thy face,
and native grace
To charm the foul to Love.
The flaunting Sun, whose western beams,
This Evening drink of Oceans' streams,
To-morrow fprings to Light.
But when thy Beauty sets, my Fair,
No morrow shall its beam repair,
'Tis all eternal Night.
See too, my Love, the virgin Rofe,
How fweet, how bashfully it blows
Beneath the vernal skies!
How foon it blooms in full difplay,
Its bofom opening to the Day,
Then withers, fhrinks, and dies.
Of mortal Life's declining Hour,
Such is the Leaf, the bud, the Flow'r
Then crop the Rofe in Time.
Be bleft and bless, and kind impart
The juft return of Heart for Heart,
Ere Love becomes a Crime,
To Pleasure then, my Charmer, hafte,
And ere thy Youth begins to waste,
Ere Beauty dims its ray,
The proffer'd gift of Love employ,
Improve each moment into Joy,
Be happy, whilft you may
OF CHURCH-LANGTON, LEICESTERSHIRE
ON HIS PLANTATIONS.
WHILE vain purfuits a trifling race engage,
And Virtue slumbers in a thriftless age,
Thy glorious plan*, on deep foundations laid,
Which aiding Nature, Nature's bound to aid,
The wife man's ftudy, though the blockhead's fcorn,
Shall speak for ages to a world unborn.
Though fools deride, for Cenfure's ftill at hand:
To damn the work fhe cannot understand,.
Pursue thy project with an ardour fit;
Fools are but whetstones to a man of wit..
Like puling infants feem'd thy rifing plan,
Now knit in ftrength, it speaks an active man.
So the broad oak, which from thy grand defign
Shall spread aloft, and tell the world 'twas thine,.
A ftrip'ling first, just peep'd above the ground,
Which, ages hence, fhall fling its fhade around..
* See Mr. Hanbury's Effay on Planting.
SENT TO A LADY, WITH A SEAL.
H' impreffion which this feal fhall make,
The rougher hand of force may break;
Or jealous time, with flow decay,
May all its traces wear away;
But neither time nor force combin'd,
Shall tear thy image from my mind;
Nor fhall the fweet impression fade
Which CHLOE's thousand charms have made;
For fpite of time, or force, or art,
"Tis feal'd for ever on my heart.
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