Immortal myrtles wreath his golden hair;
His rosy wings perfume the wanton air;

Two quivers, fill'd with darts, his fell designs declare.
A crimson blush o'erspread Diana's face,

A frown succeeds---she stops the springing chase,
And thus forbids the boy the consecrated place.

AIR.

Fond disturber of the heart!

From these sacred shades depart;
Here's a blooming troop disdains
Love and his fantastic chains.
Sisters of the silver bow,

Pure and chaste as virgin-snow,
Melt not at thy feeble fires,
Wanton god of wild desires!

RECITATIVE.

Rage and revenge divide Love's little breast,
While thus the angry goddess he addrest:

AIR.

Virgin-snow does oft remain
Long unmelted on the plain,
Till the glorious god of Day
Smiles, and wastes its pride away.
What is Sol's meridian fire
To the darts of strong desire!
Love can light a raging flame

Hotter than his noontide beam.

20

40

RECITATIVE.

Now thro' the forest's brown imbower'd ways
With careless steps the young Endymion strays;
His form erect!---loose flows his lovely hair,
His glowing cheeks like youthful Hebe's fair!
His graceful limbs with ease and vigour move;
His eyes---his ev'ry feature, form'd for love;
Around the list'ning woods attentive hung,
While thus, invoking Sleep, the shepherd sung:

AIR.

Where the pebbled streamlet glides
Near the wood-nymph's rustic grot,
If the god of Sleep resides,
Or in Pan's sequester'd cot,
Hither if he'll lightly tread,
Follow'd by a gentle Dream,
We'll enjoy this grassy bed

On the bank beside the stream.

RECITATIVE.

As on the painted turf the shepherd lies,
Sleep's downy curtain shades his lovely eyes;
And now a sporting breeze his bosom shows,
As marble smooth, and white as Alpine snows;
The goddess gaz'd, in magic softness bound,
Her silver bow falls useless to the ground;
Love laugh'd, and, sure of conquest, wing'd a dart,
Unerring, to her undefended heart.

She feels in ev'ry vein the fatal fire,

And thus persuades her virgins to retire.

AIR.

1.

Ye tender Maids! be timely wise,
Love's wanton fury shun;

In flight alone your safety lies:
The daring are undone

II.

Do blue-ey'd doves, serenely mild,
With vultures fell engage?
Do lambs provoke the lion wild,
Or tempt the tiger's rage?

III.

No, no. Like fawns, ye Virgins! fly;

To secret cells remove; Nor dare the doubtful combat try 'Twixt Chastity and Love.

HYMEN.

WHEN Chloe with a blush comply'd
To be the fond Nicander's bride,
His imagination ran

On raptures never known by man.
How high the tides of Fancy swell
Expression must despair to tell.

A painter call'd---Nicander cries, "Descending from the radiant skies

"Draw me a bright, a beauteous, boy,
"The herald of connubial joy!
"Draw him with all peculiar care,
"Make him beyond Adonis fair;
"Give to his cheeks a roseate hue,
"Let him have eyes of heav'nly blue,
"Lips soft'ning in nectarious dew;
"A lustre o'er his charms display
"More glorious than the beams of day.
"Expect, Sir, if you can succeed,
"A premium for a prince indeed."

His talents straight the painter try'd,
And, ere the nuptial-knot was ty'd,
A picture in the noblest taste
Before the fond Nicander plac'd.

The lover thus arraign'd his skill: "Your execution's monstrous ill! "A diff'rent form my fancy made; "You're quite a bungler at the the trade. "Where is the robe's luxuriant flow? "Where is the cheek's celestial glow? "Where are the looks so fond and free? "'Tis not an Hymen, Sir, for me."

The painter bow'd---with this reply: "My colours a'n't, your Honour, dry; "When time has mellow'd ev'ry tint "Twill please you---or the deuce is in't:

"I'll watch the happy change, and then "Attend you with my piece again."

In a few months the painter came With a performance---(still the same,) "Take it away,"---the husband cry'd; "I have repeated cause to chide. 66 Sir, you should all excesses shun; "This is a picture overdone!

"There's too much ardour in that eye, "The tincture on the cheek's too high; "The robes have a lascivious play, "The attitude's too loosely gay. "Friend! on the whole, this piece, for me, "Is too luxuriant---far too free."

"The painter thus--- The faults you find "Are form'd in your capricious mind: "To passion a devoted slave, "The first directions, Sir, you gave; "Possession has repell'd the flame, "Nor left a sentiment the same.

"My picture is design'd to prove "The changes of precarious love. "On the next staircase rais'd on high "Regard it with a curious eye. "As to the first steps you proceed, "'Tis an accomplish'd piece indeed! 86 But, as you mount some paces higher, "Is there a grace that don't expire ?"