Hufh-foftly tread, and filence keep;
The wanton gods are all asleep;
Let's break their darts and bows,
So in our turn

We'll make them mourn,

And give the world repofe.

"Tis done for fcarce the goddess spoke,
But lo! their darts and bows are broke;
Their quivers hang in triumph high,
When thus the nymphs exprefs their joy:
Our victory's great,
Our glory's compleat,

No longer fhall we be alarm'd;
Then fing and rejoice,

With one heart and voice,
For Cupid at length is difarm'd.
Ye nymphs and ye fwains,
Who dwell on thefe plains,

And have by fond paffions been harm'd,
Secure of your hearts

Now laugh at his darts,

For Cupid at length is difarm'd.
Rouz'd with the noife, the god in wild affright
Awakes; but oh! what objects fhock his fight!
His dreaded arms in fcatter'd fhivers thrown;

-O cruel goddefs-but I fcorn to moan.
Revenge be mine-ftill one unbroken dart
Remains-He faid, and lanc'd it thro' her heart.
Beware how you the god of love provoke;
Ah! what avail a thousand arrows broke,
If one remains to waft

The dire heart-wounding fhaft!

Ah! what avail a thoufand arrows broke
If one remains to waft the fatal ftroke!

The ACCEPTABLE SACRIFICE.

A fragment of Menander, tranflated by Francis Fawks, M. A.

W

HOE'ER approaches to the Lord of all,
And with his offerings defolates the ftall;

Who brings an hundred bulls with garlands dreft,
The purple mantle, or the golden veft,
Or ivory figures richly wrought around,
Or curious images with emeralds crown'd;
And hopes with thefe God's favour to obtain,
His thoughts are foolish and his hopes are vain.
He, only he may truft his pray'rs will rife,
And heav'n accept his grateful facrifice,

Who

Who leads beneficent a virtuous life, Who wrongs no virgin, who corrupts no wife; No robber he, no murderer of mankind, No mifer, fervant to the fordid mind., Dare to be juft, my Pamphilus, difdain The fmalleft trifle for the greatest gain: For God is nigh thee, and his purer fight In acts of goodness only takes delight: He feeds the labourer for his honest toil, And heaps his fubstance as he turns the foil. To him then humbly pay the rites divine, And not in garments, but in goodness shine. Guiltless of conscience thou may't fafely fleep, Tho' thunder bellow thro' the boundless deep.

ANACREON, ODE XXXVI.

BUSY Rhetor, hence away

Dictate not to me, I pray ;

What care I for all your rules?
Love and Bacchus hate the schools.
Teach me not, then, what to say,
Teach Anacreon to be gay:
Teach me not then how to think,
Teach Anacreon how to drink.

See the envious hand of time,
Robs Anacreon of his prime!
See the wrinkles knit my brow!
See the filver treffes flow!

Ceafe, then ceafe your pedant ftrain;
Fit for philofophic brain.

Since, my friend, I'm growing grey,
I'll be merry whilft I may;

Drink and revel it away.

Quickly boy nay fafter pour;

Death, perhaps, is at the door :

Quick then -left I drink no more.

ROGERS.

HYMEN to ELIZ A.

By LL.

MADAM, before your feet I lay

This ode upon your wedding day,

The first indeed I ever made,
For writing odes is not my trade:

My head is full of houthold cares,
And neceffary dull affairs;

B fides that fometimes jealous frumps
Will put me into doleful dumps.
And then no clown beneath the sky
Was e'er more ungallant than I;
for you alone I now think fit
To turn a poet and a wit-

For you whofe charms, I know not how,
Have power to fmooth my wrinkled brow,
And make me, though by nature ftupid,
As brifk, and as alert, as Cupid.
Thefe obligations to repay,
Whene'er your happy nuptial day
Shall with the circling years return,
For you my torch fhall brighter burn;
Than when you first my pow'r ador'd ;
Nor will I call myself your lord,
But am (as witnefs this my hand)
Your humble fervant at command,

Dear child, let Hymen not beguile
You, who are fuch a judge of ftyle,
To think that he these verses made,
Without an abler penman's aid;
Obferve them well, you'll plainly fee,
That every line was writ by me,

The ELM and VINE.

HYMEN.

CUPID.

A FABLE.

Infcribed to a LADY who expressed a great averfion to Marriage.

IN

N Æfop's days, when trees cou'd fpeak,
And talk in Hebrew, Latin, Greek,
An elm and vine, by chance near neighbours,
Tho' feparate, each purfued their labours:
The vine, with native sweetnefs fraught,
For man prepar'd the chearing draught;
Her tendrils curl'd along the plain,
And ruddy clusters fwell'd amain.
The tow'ring elm could little boast,
But leaves a barren fhade at moft;
Save when by woodman's fturdy ftroke
Cut down to make a chair, or spoke;
Yet tho' but fmall his claim to merit,
Not wholly void of fenfe or fpirit,

His neighbour's worth he view'd with fmiles,
And long'd to fhare her ufeful toils.

For,

No-feek more fuitable alliance.

"I to all danger bid defiance.

"Here, unconfin'd, I range my fill;
"And bounteous nature waits my will."
At this the modeft elm, ftruck mute,
Forbore to urge his friendly fuit:
But, forely griev'd to meet difdain,
A tender figh exprefs'd his pain.

When, lo! thick darkness veils the pole,
Dread lightnings flafh, loud thunders roll;
Impetuous rains in floods defcend,
And trembling nature fears an end.
The vine, faint, fpiritlefs, forlorn,
Now feeks the fuccour late her fcorn:
Creeps feebly to the elm's embrace;
And in his arms finds fweet folace;
United thus they storms defy,

And mutual grace and aid supply.

REASON and IMAGINATION. AFABLE.

From poems juft published; by Chriftopher Smart.

'T

WAS in the famous Sabine grove,

Where wit fo oft with judgment ftrove,

Imagination in the flight

Of young defire and gay delight,
Began to think upon a mate,
As weary of the fingle ftate;
For fick of change, as left at will,
And cloy'd with entertainment ftill,
She thought it better to be grave,
To fettle, to take up, and fave;
P 4

She

She therefore to her chamber fped,
And thus at firft attir'd her head:
Upon her hair, with brilliants grac'd,
Her tow'r of beamy gold fhe plac'd;
Her ears with pendent jewels glow'd
Of various water, curious mode,
As nature fports the wintry ice,
In many a whimsical device.

Her eye-brows arch'd, upon the ftream
Of rays, beyond the piercing beam;
Her cheeks, in matchlefs colour high,
She veil'd to fix the gazer's eye;
Her breaft, as white as fancy draws,
She cover'd with a crimson gauze,
And on her wings fhe threw perfume
From buds of everlafting bloom.
Her zone, ungirded from her vest,
She wore across her fwelling breast,

On which, in gems, this verfe was wrought,
"I make and shift the fcenes of thought."
In her right-hand a wand fhe held,
Which magic's utmost pow'r excell'd;
And in her left retain❜d a chart,
With figures far furpaffing art,
Of other natures, funs and moons,
Of other moves to higher tunes.
The fylphs and fylphids, fleet as light,
The fairies of the gamefome night,
The mufes, graces, all attend
Her fervice to her journey's end:
And fortune, fometimes at her hand,
Is now the fav'rite of her band,
Difpatch'd before the news to bear,
And all th' adventure to prepare.
Beneath an holm-tree's friendly fhade
Was Reason's little cottage made;
Before, a river deep and ftill,
Behind, a rocky, foaring hill...
Himfelf, adorn'd in feemly plight,
Was reading to the eastern light;
And ever, as he meekly knelt,
Upon the book of wisdom dwelt,
The fpirit of the shifting wheel
Thus firft effay'd his pulse to feel:
"The nymph fupreme o'er works of wit,
"O'er labour'd plan and lucky hit,
"Is coming to your homely cot

To call you to a nobler lot;

"I, For