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Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swain ·
Waft sighs alternate to each other's heart:
But not the concord of harmonious sounds,
When the soft lute or pealing organ strikes
The well-attemper'd ear; nor the sweet breath
Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swain
Waft sighs alternate to each other's heart,
So charm with ravishment the raptur'd sense,
As does the voice of well-deserv'd report
Strike with sweet melody the conscious soul.

On ev'ry object through the giddy world. Which fashion to the dazzled eye presents, Fresh is the gloss of newness; look, dear youth, O look, but not admire! O let not these Raze from thy noble heart the fair records Which youth and education planted there! Let not affection's full, impetuous tide, Which riots in thy generous breast, be check'd By selfish cares; nor let the idle jeers Of laughing fools make thee forget thyself. When didst thou hear a tender tale of woe,

And feel thy heart at rest? Have I not seen
In thy swoln eye the tear of sympathy,
The milk of human kindness? When didst thou,
With envy rankling, hear a rival prais’d?
When didst thou slight the wretched? When

despise
The modest humble suit of poverty ?
These virtues still be thine ; nor ever learn
To look with cold eye on the charities
Of brother, or of parents; think on those
Whose anxious care thro' childhood's slippery

path Sustain’d thy feeble steps; whose every wish Is wasted still to thee ; remember those, Even in thy heart, while memory holds her seat; And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recall The sweet companions of thy earliest years, Mates of thy sport, and rivals in the strife Of every generous art, remember me!

A PASTORAL.

BY PETER PINDAR.

W HILE 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,

And loiter so long from my sight: Know, the loss of a moment in Love,

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, Known by the laurel wreath and musing mien ;

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.

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