"But from that hour my foul has known no rest, "Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast: “I rage, I burn. Yet ftill regardless you "Not the leaft fign of melting pity fhew: "No; by the gods that fhall revenge my pain! "No; you, the more I love, the more difdain. “Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn'd, I know "Why you defpife and fly the Cyclops fo; "Because a fhaggy brow from fide to fide, "Stretch'd in a line, does my large forehead hide; "And under that one only eye does shine, "And my flat nofe to my big lips does join. "Such though I am, yet know, a thousand sheep, "The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep; "With sweetest milk they fill my flowing pails, "And my vaft ftock of cheeses never fails; "In fummer's heat, or winter's fharpeft cold, "My loaded fhelves groan with the weight they hold. "With such soft notes I the fhrill pipe infpire, "That every liftening Cyclops does admire; "While with it often I all night proclaim

Thy powerful charms, and my fuccefslefs flame. "For thee twelve does, all big with fawn, I feed; "And four bear-cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed. "Ah! come to me, fair nymph! and you fhall find "Thefe are the fimal left gifts for thee defign'd. "Ah! come, and leave the angry waves to roar, "And break themselves against the founding shore. "How much more pleafant would thy flumbers be "In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me!

"There the streight cypress and green laurel join, "And creeping ivy clasps the cluster'd vine; "There fresh, cool rills, from Ætna's pureft fnow, "Diffolv'd into ambrofial liquor, flow.

"Who the wild waves and blackish sea could chufe, "And thefe ftill fhades and these sweet streams refuf But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with hair, "Without a fire defy the winter air,

"Know I have mighty stores of wood, and know "Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow. "My foul, my life itself should burn for thee, "And this one eye, as dear as life to me. "Why was not I with fins, like fishes, made, "That I, like them, might in the deep have play'd? "Then would I dive beneath the yielding tide, "And kifs your hand, if you your lips deny❜d. "To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear, "And flowers that crown each season of the year. "But I'm refolv'd I'll learn to fwim and dive "Of the next stranger that does here arrive, "That th' undiscover'd pleasures I may know "Which you enjoy in the deep flood below. "Come forth, O nymph! and coming forth forget, "Like me that on this rock unmindful fit "(Of all things elfe unmindful but of thee), "Home to return forget,, and live with me. "With me the fweet, and pleasing labour chufe, "To feed the flock, and milk the burthen'd ewes,

To prefs the cheese, and the sharp runnet to infuse.

My

"My mother does unkindly use her son,
"By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
"For me she never labours to prevail,
"Nor whispers in your ear my amorous tale.
"No; though fhe knows I languish every day,
"And fees my body waste, and strength decay.
"But I more ills than what I feel will feign,
"And of my head and of my feet complain;
"That, in her breast if any pity lie,

She may be fad, and griev'd, as well as I.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops, where 's thy reason fled? "If your young lambs with new-pluck'd boughs you fed, "And watch'd your flock, would you not feem more wife; "Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies. "Perhaps you may, fince this proves fo unkind, "Another fairer Galatea find.

"Me many virgins as I pass invite

"To waste with them in love's foft fports the night;

“And, if I but incline my listening ear,

"New joys, new fmiles, in all their looks appear.
"Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
"It seems, are fomebody as well as the!"

Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And footh'd with gentle verfe his fierce defire;
Thus pafs'd his hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the riches of the world were his.

TO CELI I A.

FLY fwift, ye hours; ye sluggish minutes, fly;

Bring back my love, or let her lover die.

Make hafte, O fun, and to my eyes once more,
My Cælia brighter than thyself restore.

In spite of thee, 'tis night when the 's away,
Her eyes alone can the glad beams display,
That makes my fky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will she lift up her facred light,
And chafe away the flying fhades of night!
With her how faft the flowing hours run on '
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone!
So flowly time when clogg'd with grief does move;
So fwift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are paft;
Yet 'tis an age fince I beheld her last.

O, my aufpicious ftar, make hafte to rise,

To charm our hearts, and bless our longing eyes!
O, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirsty foul does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue!
Where pointed wit with folid judgment grows,
And in one eafy ftream united flows.
Whene'er you speak, with what delight we hear,
You call up every foul to every year!

Nature

And where he us a poet male,

She gives in veri e futi wauty's fie.
Had I a pea that out at once impart
Soft Ovid nature and ng Virgil's an,
Then the immortal bachariña a name

Should be but fecond in the lift of fame;

Each grote, each fade, fround with thy prafe be fill'd, And the fam'd Pendant to our Windfor yield.

SPOKEN