PHILLIS. A PASTORAL. BY PETER PINDAR. WHILE the Shepherds are blithe on the green, And welcome the blushes of MAY; With sorrow I look on the scene, While PHILLIDA wanders away. But lo! the sweet maiden appears! Ah, pleas'd, she descends from the stile; She hastes to repay all my fears, And the pang of my heart, with a smile! How could PHILLIDA leave me forlorn! With a frown-at the deed I would rail; But thy smile is the beam of the morn, That chaces the gloom of the vale. Thou thinkest it nothing to rove, Is the loss of an age of Delight. ISIS. AN ELEGY. BY MR. MASON, OF CAMBRIDGE. FAR from her hallow'd grot, where, mildly bright, The pointed crystals shot their trembling light; From dripping moss, where sparkling dew-drops fell, [shell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed Pale Isis lay; a willow's lowly shade Spread its thin foliage o'er the sleeping Maid; Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breast In careless folds loose flow'd her zoneless vest; While down her neck her vagrant tresses flow, In all the awful negligence of woe; Her urn sustain'd her arm, that sculptur'd vase Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all his grace. Here, full with life, was heaven-taughtScience seen, There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace, sedate and bland, Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive wand; While solemn domes, arch'd shades, and vistas green, At well-mark'd distance close the sacred scene.. On this the goddess cast an anxious look, Then dropp'd a tender tear, and thus she spoke: Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace The mimic charms of this prophetic vase; Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd eyes View on yon plain the real glories rise. Yes, Isis! oft hast thou rejoic'd to lead Thy liquid treasures o'er yon fav'rite mead: Oft hast thou stopp'd thy pearly car to gaze, While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays; While ev'ry Youth, with Fame's strong impulse Press'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd, [fir'd, Snatch'd each celestial wreath to bind his brow The Muses, Graces, Virtues, could bestow. E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train, And hang fresh trophies o'er my honour'd spring. eye, [awe, My son," he cried, "observe this mien with In solemn lines the strong resemblance draw; "The piercing notes shall strike each British ear; "Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear! "And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, "Each youth shall spurn at Slavery's abject reign; "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, "And speak, and act, and bleed, in Freedom's "cause." The hero spoke; the bard assenting bow'd; The lay to Liberty and Cato flow'd; While Echo, as she rov'd the vale along, Join'd the strong cadence of his Roman song. But, ah! how Stillness slept upon the ground, How mute attention check'd each rising sound, Scarce stole a breeze to wave the leafy spray, Scarce trill'd sweet Philomel her softest lay, When Locke walk'd musing forth! e'en now I view Majestic Wisdom thron'd upon his brow; View Candour smile upon his modest cheek, And from his eye all Judgment's radiance break. "Twas here the sage his manly zeal express'd, Here stripp'd vain Falsehood of her gaudy vest; |