Down rufhes from the battlements of heaven,
And fudden cries, Return, brave chief, return,
Left from the skies fome guardian power of Troy
Wrathful defcend, and rouze the hoftile bands.
Thus fpeaks the Warrior Queen: the heavenly voice
Tydides owns, and mounts the fiery steeds,
Obfervant of the high command; the bow
Sage Ithacus apply'd, and tow'rd the tents
Scourg'd the proud fteeds, the steeds flew o'er the plain.
A PASTORAL, to a young LADY upon her leaving, and return to, the Country.
AY, while each fcene fo beautiful appears,
Why heaves thy bofom, and why flow thy tears? See! from the clouds the fpring defcends in fhowers, The painted vallies laugh with rifing flowers: Smooth flow the floods, foft, breathe the vernal airs, The fpring, flowers, floods, confpire to charm our
But vain the pleasure which the feason yields,
The laughing vallies, or the painted fields.
No more, ye floods, in filver mazes flow,
Smile not, ye flowers, no more foft breezes blow;
Far, Damon, far from thefe unhappy groves,
The cruel, lovely Rofalinda roves.
Ah! now I know why late the opening buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods;
Why droop'd the lily in her fnowy pride,
And why the rose withdrew her sweets, and dy'd;
For thee, fair Rofalind, the opening buds
Clos'd up their gems, and ficken'd in the woods;
For thee the lily shed her fnowy pride,
For thee the rofe withdrew her fweets, and dy'd.
See! where yon' vine in soft embraces weaves
Her wanton ringlets with the myrtle's leaves,
There tun'd fweet Philomel her fpirightly lay,
Both to the rifing and the falling day;
But fince fair Rofalind forfook the plains,
Sweet Philomel no more renews her strains;
With forrow dumb, the difregards her lay,
Nor greets the rifing nor the falling day.
Say, O ye winds, that range the distant skies,
Now fwell'd to tempefts by my rifing fighs;
Say, while my Rofalind deferts thefe fhores,
How Damon dies for whom his foul adores.
Ye murmuring fountains, and ye wandering floods,
That vifit various lands through various roads;
Say, when ye find where Rofalind refides,
Say, how my tears increase your swelling tides.
Tell me, I charge you, O! ye fylvan swains,
Who range
the mazy grove, or flowery plains,
Befide what fountain, in what breezy bower,
Reclines my charner in the noon-tide hour!
Soft, I adjure you, by the skipping fawns,
By the fleet roes, that bound along the lawns;
Soft tread, ye virgin daughters of the grove,
Nor with your dances wake my fleeping love!
Return, O virgin, and if proud disdain
Arm thy fierce foul, return, enjoy my pain;
If pleas'd thou view'st a faithful lover's cares,
Thick rife, ye fighs; in floods defcend, ye tears!
Return, O virgin! while in verdant meads
By fprings we fport, or dream on flowery beds;
She weary wanders through the desert way,
The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.
Ah! shield her, heaven! your rage, ye beafts, forbear! Thofe are not limbs for favages to tear!
Adieu, ye meads! with her through wilds I go
O'er burning fands, or everlasting fnow;
With her I wander through the defert way,
The food of wolves, or hungry lions prey.
Come, Rofalind, before the wintery clouds
Frown o'er th' aërial vault, and rush in floods;
Ere raging forms howl o'er the frozen plains;
Thy charms may fuffer by the ftorms or rains.
Come, Rofalind, O come; then infant flowers
Shall bloom and fmile, and form their charms by
By you, the lily shall her white compofe,
Your blufh fhall add new blushes to the rofe;
Each flowery mead, and every tree shall bud,
And fuller honours cloath the youthful wood.
Yet, ah! forbear to urge thy homeward way,
While fultry funs infeft the glowing day :
The fultry funs thy beauties may impair!-
Yet hafte away! for thou art now too fair.
Hark! from yon' hower what airs foft warbled play!
My foul takes wing to meet th' enchanting lay :
Silence, ye nightingales! attend the voice!
While thus it warbles, all your fongs are noife.
See! from the bower a form majestic moves,
And smoothly gliding fhines along the groves;
Say, comes a goddess from the golden spheres ?
A goddess comes, or Rofalind appears!
Shine forth, thou fun, bright ruler of the day,
And where the treads, ye flowers, adorn the way!
Rejoice, ye groves, my heart dismiss thy cares!
My Goddess comes, my Rofalind appears.
WAS fung of old how one Amphion,
Could by his verses tame a lion;
And by his ftrange enchanting tunes,
Make bears or wolves dance rigadoons :
His fongs could call the timber down,
And form it into houfe or town;
But it is plain that in these times
No houfe is rais'd by poets rhymes;
They for themselves can only rear
A few wild castles in the air;
Poor are the brethren of the bays,
Down from high strains, to ekes and ayes.
The Mufes too are virgins yet,
And may be-till they portions get.
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