Her fons, tho' few, not PALLAS Cou'd defend,
Nor DULNESs fuccour to her thousands lend;
Love like a fever with infectious rage
Scorch'd up the young, and thaw'd the froft of age,
at her, ev'n DoNNS were feen to run,
And leave unfinish'd pipes, and authors-scarce begun. *So HELEN look'd, and mov'd with fuch a grace, When the grave feniors of the Trojan race
Were forc'd thofe fatal beauties to admire,
That all their youth confum'd, and set their town on fire. At fam'd NEWMARKET oft I spend the day
An unconcern'd fpectator of the play;
There pitilefs obferve the ruin'd heir
With anger fir'd, or melting with despair;
For how fhou'd I his trivial lofs bemoan,
Who feel one, fo much greater, of my own?
There while the golden heaps, a glorious prize,
Wait the decifion of two rival dice,
Whilft long difputes 'twixt seven and five remain,
And each, like parties, have their friends for gain,
* Vid. Hom. II. Lib. III. Ver. 150.
Without one wish I fee the guineas shine,
Fate, keep your gold, I cry, make CHLOE mine.
Now fee, prepar'd their utmost speed to try,
O'er the smooth turf the bounding racers fly!
Now more and more their flender limbs they ftrain,
And foaming ftretch along the velvet plain!
Ah ftay! fwift fteeds, your rapid flight delay,
No more the jockey's smarting lash obey:
But rather let my hand direct the rein,
And guide your steps a nobler prize to gain;
Then swift as eagles cut the yielding air,
Bear me, oh bear me to the abfent fair.
Now when the winds are hufh'd, the air ferene,
And chearful funbeams gild the beauteous fcene,
Penfive o'er all the neighb'ring fields I stray,
Where'er or choice, or chance directs the way:
Or view the op'ning lawns, or private woods,
Or diftant bluifh hills, or filver floods:
Now harmless birds in filken nets infnare,
Now with swift dogs pursue the flying hare:
Dull sports! for oh my CHLOE is not there!
Fatigu'd, at length I willingly retire
To a small study, and a cheerful fire;
There o'er fome folio pore, I pore 'tis true,
But oh my thoughts are fled, and fled to you!
I hear you, see you, feaft upon your eyes,
And clasp with eager arms the lovely prize;
Here for a while I cou'd forget my pain,
Whilft I by dear reflection live again:
But ev❜n these joys are too fublime to last,
And quickly fade, like all the real ones paft;
For juft when now beneath fome filent grove
I hear you talk-and talk perhaps of love-
Or charm with thrilling notes the lift'ning ear,
Sweeter than angels fing, or angels hear,
My treach❜rous hand its weighty charge lets go,
The book falls thund'ring on the floor below,
The pleafing vifion in a moment's gone,
And I once more am wretched, and alone.
So when glad ORPHEUS from th' infernal shade
Had just recall'd his long-lamented maid,
Soon as her charms had reach'd his eager eyes,
Loft in eternal night again she dies.
The Indian fwain his fable love adores ;
Off'rings well suited to the dusky shrine
Of his rude goddess, but unworthy mine:
And yet they seem not such a worthless prize,
If nicely view'd by philofophic eyes;
And fuch are your's, that nature's works admire
With warmth like that, which they themselves infpire.
To fuch how fair appears each grain of fand,
Or humbleft weed, as wrought by nature's hand!
How far fuperior to all human pow'r
Springs the green blade, or buds the painted flow'r!
In all her births, tho' of the meaneft kinds,
A just observer entertainment finds,
With fond delight her low productions fees,
And how the gently rifes by degrees;
A fhell, or ftone, he can with pleasure view,
Hence trace her noblest works, the heav'ns-and you.
Behold, how bright these gaudy trifles shine,
The lovely sportings of a hand divine!
See with what art each curious fhell is made,
Here carv'd in fretwork, there with pearl inlaid!
What vivid ftreaks th' enamell'd stones adorn,
Fair as the paintings of the purple morn!
Yet ftill not half their charms can reach our eyes,
While thus confus'd the sparkling chaos lies;
Doubly they'll please, when in your grotto plac'd,
They plainly speak their fair disposer's taste;
Then glories yet unfeen fhall o'er them rife,
New order from your hand, new luftre from your eyes.
How sweet, how charming will appear this Grot,
When by your art to full perfection brought !
Here verdant plants, and blooming flow'rs will grow,
There bubbling currents thro' the shell-work flow;
Here coral mixt with fhells of various dyes,
There polish'd ftones will charm our wond'ring eyes:
Delightful bow'r of blifs! fecure retreat!
Fit for the Muses, and STATIRA's feat.
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