When the winds whistle, and the tempeft roars,
When foaming billows lafh the founding fhores,
The bloomy beauties of the paftures die,
And in gay heaps of fragrant ruin lie.
Severe the ftorms! when fhuddering winter binds
The earth! but winter yields to vernal winds.
O! Love, thy rigour my whole life deforms,
More cold than winter, more fevere than ftorms!
Sweet is the fpring, and gay the fummer hours,
When balmy odours breathe from painted flowers
But neither sweet the fpring, nor fummer gay,
When she I-love, my charmer, is away..
To favage rocks, through bleak inclement skies,
Deaf as those rocks, from me my fair-one flies :
O virgin, cease to fly! th' inclement air
May hurt thy charms !---but thou haft charms to fpare!
I love, and ever fhall my love remain,
The fairest, kindeft virgin of the plain;
With equal paffion her foft bofom glows,
Feels the fweet pains, and fhares the heavenly woes.
With a feign'd paffion, fhe I love, beguiles,
And gayly falfe the dear diffembler fmiles;
But let her ftill thofe bleft deceits employ,
Still may the feign, and cheat me into joy!
On yonder bank the yielding nymph reclin'd,
Gods! how transported I, and fhe how kind!
There rife, ye flowers, and there your pride display,
There shed your odours where the fair-one lay!
Once, as my fair-one in the rofy bower
In gentle flumbers pafs'd the noon-tide hour,
Soft I approach'd, and raptur'd with the bliss
At leisure gaz'd, then stole a filent kifs ;
She wak'd; when confcious fmiles, but ill repreft,
Spoke no difdain !- -Was ever fwain fo bleft?
With fragrant apples from the bending bough
In fport my charmer gave her fwain a blow :
The fair offender, of my wrath afraid,
Fled, till I feiz'd and kiss'd the blooming maid:
She fmil'd, and vow'd if thus her crimes I pay,
She would offend a thousand times a day!
O'er the steep mountain, and the pathless mead,
From my embrace the lovely fcorner fled;
But ftumbling in the flight, by chance she fell;
I faw---but what---her lover will not tell!
From me, my fair-one fled, diffembling play,
And in the dark conceal'd the wanton lay;
But laugh'd, and fhew'd by the directing found
She only hid, in fecret to be found.
Far hence to happier climes Belinda ftrays,
But in my breast her lovely image stays;
O! to these plains again, bright nymph, repair,
Or from my breast far hence thy image bear!
Come, Delia, come, till Delia blefs these feats,
Hide me, ye groves, within your dark retreats !
In hollow groans, ye winds, around me blow!
Ye bubbling fountains, murmur to my woe!
Where'er Belinda roves, ye Zephyrs, play!
Where'er fhe treads, ye flowers, adorn the way!
From fultry funs, ye groves, my charmer keep!
Ye bubbling fountains, murmur to her fleep!
If ftreams fmooth-wandering, Delia, yield delight, If the gay role, or lily, please thy fight;
Smooth streams here wander, here the roses glow,
Here the proud lilies rife to fhade thy brow!
Aid me, ye Mufes, while I loud proclaim
What love inspires, and fing Belinda's name :
Waft it, ye breezes, to the hills around,
And fport, ye echoes, with the favourite found.
Thy name, my Delia, fhall improve my song,
The pleafing labour of my ravish'd tongue :
Her name to heaven propitious Zephyrs bear,
And breathe it to her kindred angels there!
But fee! the night difplays her ftarry train,
Soft filver dews impearl the glittering plain;
An awful horror fills the gloomy woods,
And bluish mifts rife from the fimoaking floods;
Hafte, Daphnis, hafte to fold thy woolly care,
The deepening fhades imbrown th' unwholesome air.
VARIATION.
Hafte, Lycidas, to fold &c.
TRANSLATED.
MECENAS, whofe high lineage fprings.
From a long race of ancient kings,
Patron, and friend! thy honour'd name
At once is my defence, and fame.
There are, who with fond tranfport praise.
The chariot thundering in the race;
Where conqueft won, and palms beftow'd,
Lift the proud mortal to a God.
The man, who courts the people's voice,
And doats on offices and noife;
Or they, who till the peaceful fields,
And reap what bounteous nature yields,
Unmov'd, the merchant's wealth behold,
Nor hazard happinefs for gold;
Untempted by whole worlds of gain
To ftem the billows of the main.
The merchant, when the ftorm invades,
Envies the quiet of the fhades;
But foon relaunches from the fhore,
Dreading the crime of being poor!
Some careless waste the mirthful day
With generous wines, and wanton play,
Indulgent of the genial hour,
By fping, or rill, or fhade, or bower.
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