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Of a LADY finging to her LUTE.
AIR Charmer, ceafe, nor make
A heart refign'd the conqueft of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threatned vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once affail.
We were too bleft with these inchanting lays, 5
Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Left heav'nly mufic should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he:
A poet made the filent wood pursue,
This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too.
On a FAN of the Author's defign, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.
JOME, gentle Air! th' Æolian fhepherd faid, While Procris panted in the secret shade; Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her fwain expiring lies. Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, Breathe on her lips, and in her bofom play! In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fabled dart more furely wound: Both gifts deftructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds the
She views the ftory with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
my Muse the flow'ry Treasures
And humble glories of the youthful Spring ;
Where opening Roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And foft Carnations fhow'r their balmy dews;
Where Lilies fmile in virgin robes of white, 5
The thin undress of superficial Light,
And vary'd Tulips fhow fo dazling gay,
Blushing in bright diverfities of day.
Each painted flouret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties
And pale Narciffus on the bank, in vain
Transformed, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees Cathedral Walks compose,
And mount the hill in venerable rows;
There the green Infants in their beds are laid, 15
The Garden's Hope, and its expected fhade.
Here Orange-trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And vernal honours to their autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store,
Yet in the rifing bloffom promise more.
There in bright drops the cryftal Fountains play,
By Laurels shielded from the piercing day:
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her fhade,
Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam, 25
Nor feeks in vain for fuccour to the stream,
The stream at once preferves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where Summer's beauty midst of Winter stays,
And Winter's Coolness fpite of Summer's rays. 30
HILE Celia's Tears make forrow bright, Proud grief fits swelling in her The Sun, next those the faireft light, Thus from the Ocean firft did rise : And thus thro' Mifts we fee the Sun, Which else we durft not gaze upon.
These filver drops, like morning dew,
Foretell the fervour of the day:
So from one cloud foft fhow'rs we view,
And blasting lightnings burst
The Stars that fall from Celia's eye,
Declare our Doom in drawing nigh.
The Baby in that funny Sphere
So like a Phaeton appears,
That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to fpare, 45
Thought fit to drown him in her Tears:
Elfe might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
To fet, like him, Heav'n too on fire.