By thee more sweetly smells the rose,

And boasts a brighter dye.

By thee I tafte the luscious sweets
Of Cloe's nectar'd kifs,

By thee I laugh, or cheerful fing,
And feize each tranfient blifs.

When Cloe tunes her liquid voice,
Or tries foft mufic's art,

By thee the founds melodious pierce,
Like lightning to the heart.

By thee the poet's charming lays
Our various paffions move,
Now fire the foul with rage, or melt
To pity, or to love.

By thee the scientific page

The scholar's eye delights;

By thee he shares the feast of wit,
Or wit himself indites.

With thee we taste the joys of wine,
Of friendship, and of love;
When thou art gone we lonely pine,
Or melancholic rove.

CONTENT.

A PASTORAL.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

45

O'ER moorlands and mountains rude, barren, and bare,
As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young fhepherdess fees my despair,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home.

Yellow fheafs from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were ftrew'd on her floor,

Her cafement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feats at the door.

We fate ourselves down to a cooling repast,

Fresh fruits!---and the cull'd me the best;

Whilft, thrown from my guard, by some glances she Love flyly stole into my breast.

I told my foft wishes---The fweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins her voice was divine !)

I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd;
Yet take me, fond shepherd---I'm thine.

Her air was fo modeft, her aspect fo meek,
So fimple, yet fweet were her charms,

I kifs'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.

[caft,

Now jocund together we tend a few sheep;

And if---on the banks by the stream, Reclin'd on her bofom I fink into fleep, Her image still foftens my dream.

Together we range o'er the flow-rifing hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the streamlet diftills,
And mark out new themes for my mufe.

To pomp or proud titles fhe ne'er did aspire,
The damfel's of humble defcent !

The cottager Peace is well known for her fire,
And fhepherds have nam'd her, Content.

A PRAYER

FOR INDIFFERENCE.

BY MRS. GREVILLE.

OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary;

For once I'll try my wifh to gain
Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

That lurk'ft in woods unfeen;

And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As ancient stories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd,
Thou fought'ft a wondrous fpell;

Oh! deign once more t'exert thy power;
Haply fome herb or tree,

Sov'reign as juice of western flower,
Conceals a balm for me.

I ask no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to please:
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove,
That fighs for peace and ease.

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound,

'Tis pain in each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;

Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fenfe of mine,

Which dooms me still to smart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pains new pangs impart.

Oh, hafte to shed the facred balm!
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph, Indifference, bring.

At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly ;

And Disappointment in the rear,
That blasts the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow,

The eye fhall then disown:

The heart that melts for others woe,
Shall then fcarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close,
And tranquil days shall still fucceed

To nights of calm repose.

O, fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And fo may never-fading blifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!