Soon as the lark falutes the day, '
Each morning Anna flies,
To chafe corroding fpleen away,
And blefs Amintor's eyes.

A long, long day-No Anna's feen;-
Her abfence causes dread;

When filent, grief cuts far more keen—
She preffes a fick bed,

The tidings brought, he raving cries,
Oh wretch accurft!-For thee,

For thee the faithful Anna dies,

Her fated end I fee.

'Tis thy accurfed hand that throws
The deadly murd'rous dart;
'Tis thou art author of her woes;
Thou, thou haft broke her heart,

No more, Amintor, now complain,
Thy Anna's amply bleft;
Of Fortune and her glitt'ring train,
To utmost wish poffeft:

A kinfman carle, whofe griping hand,
When living was unkind,

Dying, bequeath'd her all his land,

Sore griev'd 'twas left behind,

From her forfaken couch fhe fprings,

And low, enraptur'd bends,

Whilft on rejoicing angels wings,

Her gratitude afcends.

Thanks, thanks, all-gracious heav'n Ob, grant,

This flood of joy I bear; Thy mercy fends me all I want, Henceforth I'll not defpair.

Is Anna then ordain'd to give
Amintor liberty?

For his lov'd fake I wish to live,

For him well pleas'd wou'd die.

To Providence the grateful tear
Burfts from her up-rais'd eyes;
Nor hecatombs to heav'n appear
Such pleafing facrifice.

How faint the richeft diamonds fhow!
How languid all their fires!

To those in Beauty's eyes which glow.
When virtuous joy inspires!

With transport wild, fhe eager fle w

To make Amintor bleft:

She faw Amintor-thrilling view!

In fhrouded garment drest.

Frantic that morn he rav'd, I ne'er
Shall Anna fee again;

He falls a prey to black despair;
His heart-ftrings burft in twain.

The weakness which from virtue grows,
Can juftice faulty deem?

Such weakness virtue only knows,
When virtue 's in extreme.

Let callous bofoms moralize,
And frigid rules lay down,
They feel not who are over-wise,
Or dart the Stoic frown.

Like Niobe a-while fhe ftands,
Then finks upon the floor,

She lifts her eyes, the wrings her hands,
And never rises more.

One fuch example here below,

(In heav'n let virtue truft) Does an Hereafter plainly show; God cannot be unjust.

XLVIII.

XLVIII.

DAMON

AND

SYLVI A.

By the fame.

ROM forth the church, all-blithfome, gay,

FR

The youthful Damon came,

Handing his bride in trim array,
A fair and wealthy dame ;
Whilft poor forfaken Sylvia ftood,

Her lily'd cheek devoid of blood.

Oh, Damon, Damon, perjur'd youth,

But for a moment stay,

Are all your vows and boafted truth
Like gofmore blown away?

Give, give me back my heart again;
You cannot-for 'tis broke in twain.

Did not you swear for me alone
Each vow to heav'n did rife?
Did you not fwear a monarch's throne
Without me you'd despise?

I, witless, thought you true as dove,
And by my own weigh'd Damon's love.

But wealth, that bane of conftancy,
Lur'd Damon's heart away,
On swallow-wings falfe riches fly-
True love can ne'er decay:

Had I the world to give-you know,
That world on Damon I'd bestow.

Was there a pain touch'd Damon's breast,
But Sylvia doubly knew?

Was there a joy to make me bleft,

But took its rife from

you?

Was there a wish-(Why heaves this figh?)
Of Damon's that I cou'd deny ?

Behold the face you once fo prais'd,

With grief how pale, how wan!
Those eyes, on which you so have gaz'd,
How dim, how woe-begone!

Cou'd

you my inmoff bofom bare, You'd Damon fee-and black defpair.

But hold-I came not to upbraid,

I hither came to die ;

Beneath the turf when Sylvia's laid,

Give but one tender figh;

"Tis all I afk, 'tis all I want,

Happy if this small boon you grant..