Gay lordlings fought her for their bride;
But fhe would ne'er incline:
"Prøve to your equals true (the cry'd)
"As I will prove to mine.
" 'Tis Strephon on the mountain's brow
"Has won my right good will:
"To him I gave my plighted vow,
"With him I'll climb the hill."
Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clafp'd the constant fair;
To her alone I gave my youth,
And yow my future care.
A VITIT IN WINTER.
ON fair Afteria's blissful plains,
Where ever-blooming Fancy reigns,
How pleas'd we pass the winter's day,
And charm the dull-ey'd Spleen away.
No linnet, from the leaflefs bough,
Pours forth his note melodious now;
But all admire Afteria's tongue,
Nor wish the linnet's vernal fong.
No flowers emit their tranfient rays;
Yet fure Afteria's wit difplays
More various tints, more glowing lines,
And with perennial beauty fhines.
The fields have loft their lovely dye,
No cheerful azure decks the sky;
Yet ftill we bless the low'ring day :
Afteria fmiles and all is gay.
'TWAS in a cool Aonian glade,
The wanton Cupid, spent with toil,
Had fought refreshment from the shade,
And stretch'd him on the mossy soil.
A vagrant Mufe drew nigh, and found
The fubtle traitor fast asleep;
And is it thine to fnore profound,
She faid, yet leave the world to weep?
But, hush! from this aufpicious hour,
The world, I wean, may reft in peace;
And robb'd of darts, and stript of pow'r,
Thy peevish petulance decrease.
Sleep on, poor child! whilst I withdraw,
And this thy vile artillery hide-
When the Caftalian fount she saw,
And plung'd his arrows in the tide.
A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye,
To think yon playful kid muft die ;
From crystal spring, and flowery mead,
Muft, in his prime of life, recede!
Erewhile, in sportive circles round
She faw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
From rock to rock pursue his way,
And on the fearful margin play.
Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell,
She faw him climb my ruftic cell;
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And seem all ravish'd at the fight.
His every frolic, light as air,
Deferves the gentle Delia's care;
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful kid must die.
HOW pleas'd within my native bowers,
Erewhile I pass the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers!
Were ever flowers fo gay!
How fweetly fmil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the landscape round!
The river gliding down the dale,
The hill with beeches crown'd!
when urg'd by tender woes,
I fpeed to meet my dear,
That hill and ftream my zeal oppofe,
And check my fond career.
No more, fince Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I fee;
That verdant hill, and filver stream,
Divide my love and me.
GO, tuneful bird, that glad'st the skies,
To Daphne's window speed thy way,
And there on quivering pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
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