6 From this capricious clime she soars,

Oh! would some god but wings supply! To where each morn the Spring restores, Companion of her flight, I'd fly.

7 Vain wish me Fate compels to bear
The downward season's iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.

8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?

9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour?
The grape remains! the friend of wit,
In love and mirth of mighty power.

10 Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl; Apollo! shoot thy parting ray:

This gives the sunshine of the soul,

This god of health, and verse, and day.

11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow,

The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;
My Stella with new charms shall glow,
And every bliss in wine shall meet.

WINTER.

1 No more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flowers of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distils the dew.

2 The lingering hours prolong the night,
Usurping Darkness shares the day;
Her mists restrain the force of light,
And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.

3 By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,

With sighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field, The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.

4 No music warbles through the grove,
No vivid colours paint the plain;
No more with devious steps I rove
Through verdant paths now sought in vain.

5 Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the windows, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.

6 In Nature's aid let Art supply

With light and heat my little sphere; Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high, Light up a constellation here.

7 Let Music sound the voice of joy,
Or Mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let Love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.

8 Yet Time life's dreary winter brings,

When Mirth's gay tale shall please no more, Nor music charm, though Stella sings,

Nor love nor wine the spring restore.

9 Catch, then, oh! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a short summer-man a flower,
He dies-alas! how soon he dies!

THE WINTER'S WALK.

1 BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round us riseThe naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies.

2 Nor only through the wasted plain,

Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd;
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power usurp my breast.

3 Enlivening hope, and fond desire, Resign the heart to spleen and care; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire,

And rapture saddens to despair.

4 In groundless hope and causeless fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
Still changing with the changeful year,
The slave of sunshine and of gloom.

5 Tired with vain joys, and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal strife,

Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life!

ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NETWORK PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING.

THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,

In vain the varied work would shine
If wrought by any hand but thine—
Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine ;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain ;
Why, Stella, was it then decreed,

The heart once caught, should ne'er be freed?

D

EPIGRAM

ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.

AUGUSTUS still survives in Maro's strain, And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, For Nature form'd the poet for the king.

6

STELLA IN MOURNING.

WHEN lately Stella's form display'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,

The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.

Fate snatch away the bright disguise,

And let the goddess trust her eyes.'
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair,
And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer;
But brighten'd by the sable dress,
As Virtue rises in distress,
Since Stella still extends her reign,
Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain?
The adoring Youth and envious Fair,
Henceforth shall form one common prayer;
And Love and Hate alike implore

The skies-that Stella mourn no more.