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On a FAN of the Author's design, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.

COME, gentle air! th' Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.

Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove ;
Alike both lovers fall by those, they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,

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At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives: She views the story with attentive eyes,

And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

COWLEY.

THE GARDEN.

FAIN would my muse the flow'ry treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful spring;
Where op'ning roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft carnations show'r their balmy dews;

Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin undress of superficial light,
And vary'd tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.

Each painted flowret in the lake below

Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;
And pale Narcissus 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,
The garden's hope, and its expected shade.
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 rising blossom promise more.
There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,
By laurels shielded from the piercing day:

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Where

Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade,

Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where summer's beauty midst of winter stays,
And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays.

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WEEPING.

WHILE Celia's tears make sorrow bright,
Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;

The sun, next those the fairest light,

Thus from the ocean first did rise:

And thus through mists we see the sun,

Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew,
Foretell the fervour of the day:

So from one cloud soft show'rs we view,
And blasting lightnings burst away.
The stars that fall from Celia's eye,
Declare our doom in drawing nigh.

The baby in that sunny sphere

So like a Phaeton appears,

That Heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare,
Thought fit to drown him in her tears:
Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire,
To set, like him, heav'n too on fire.

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E. OF ROCHESTER.

ON SILENCE.

I.

SILENCE! coeval with eternity;

Thou wert, ere Nature's self began to be, Twas one vast nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee.

II.

Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was form'd, or

earth,

Ere fruitful thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

III.

Then various elements, against thee join'd,

In one more various animal combin❜d,

And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy human-kind.

IV.

The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low, Till wrangling science taught it noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

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