And sums immense were thrown away To grace the triumph of the day.

Their silk, their lace, their modes of dress,
We leave for courtly dames to guess ;
In robes how Venus gorgeous shone,
And all bedizen'd out her son;

How his grave bride with gems look'd bright,
As stars adorn a frosty night,

The song omits-for it would tire

Bright Cowley's wit, great Shakspeare's fire.

Graced with bright rays which shone afar, Seated with Venus in her car,

The heavenly pair, while clarions sound, With blessings hail'd, with glory crown'd,

In state approach the temple's gates,
Where half the Cyprian nation waits,
Till the high-priest their hands should tie
In bands which time and death defy.

The gates unfold, they enter in,
And soon the hallow'd rites begin;
With hallow'd fires the altars blaze,
The priest the bellowing victim slays;
The hymn to Juno while he spoke,
The nuptial cake in form was broke :
But oh, amazing! as their hands
Were joining in the nuptial bands,
As Love prepared to give the ring,
And the high-priest began to sing,
Forth sprung Moria from the crowd,
And, bold, forbade the banns aloud :
"The God is mine, is mine," she cries,
"Both by divine and human ties.

By solemn oaths our hearts are knit,
Two hearts that best each other fit.
Speak, Cupid, art thou mine alone?
Speak, and thy fond Moria own:
This infant which I go with claims,

You'll vouch it sprung from heavenly flames."

Instant, enchanted with her face,
Rush'd Cupid to her loved embrace;
Ravish'd to meet her, and amazed,
Upon her witching charms he gazed,

And cried, "Bright nymph, I'm wholly thine,
And you, and only you, are mine."
The pontiff stared, and dropt his book.

Dismay'd stood Venus-to the skies
She held her hands and raised her eyes;
Sunk Wisdom to the earth forlorn,
Her soul with struggling passions torn ;
And pierced with grief, and stung with pride,
The false perfidious God she eyed;
Then fainting with disdain away,

Closed her grieved eyes and loathed the day.
Meanwhile, neglectful of their woes,
Love with triumphant Folly goes,

Drawn by his mother's cooing doves, To sunny Caria's citron groves.

Ravish'd that Metis could not curb Their dotage, or their peace disturb.

Meantime poor Metis kept her bed,
Much troubled with an aching head;
And as she never was a toast,
Look'd pale and meagre as a ghost:
Though strong, too weak to ward the blow;
Though sage, too fond to slight the woe:
Love proud, like death, to level all,
The wise like fools before him fall.

Venus, who still sat near her, press'd
Her head upon her snowy breast;
She kiss'd away the tears she shed,
With her own hands she dress'd her bed;
She brought her cordials, made her tea
Of the best hyson or bohea;

To drive away each fretful thought,
She told what news the papers brought;
Whate'er in heaven or earth was done,
She told, but never named her son.
Ambrosia was her daily fare,
With nectar'd drams to doze despair;
She managed her with great address,
Made her play cards, backgammon, chess.
She got her out, and every morn
Around the skies would take a turn,
To try, while in their car they flew,
What air and exercise might do.
Whene'er her pain relax'd, she vow'd
No cure was like a brilliant crowd:
So, in the eve of each good day,
Coax'd her abroad to see the play.
Thus, like fine belles, she idly sought,
By vain delights to banish thought.

Her head she dress'd, her hair she curl'd, And made her visit half the world.

In short, she was in perfect pain The fair to comfort-but in vain.

Venus despatches a messenger to remonstrate with Cupid,
and to bring him back to Wisdom.
Swift through the air Irene pass'd,
And finds deluded Love at last,
Gazing on Folly's beauteous face,
Feasting his eyes on every grace,
And thunders in his ears a peal

Of bold plain truths, with honest zeal :
Tells him the dreadful news she brings,
And the plain consequence of things;
Show'd all his mother's letters to him,
And vow'd Moria would undo him;
Said twice as much as Venus bid her,
And begg'd of Cupid to consider,

How his vile pranks and broken vows,
Would Jove's insulted vengeance rouse ;
Then adding threats, vow'd o'er and o'er,
The Gods would be deceived no more:
In short, she made his conduct look
So black, like aspen leaves he shook.

FROM CANTO IV.

Folly, after the departure of Irene, holds a long dialogue with Love, in which she argues her own superiority over Wisdom, and the beneficial influence which she exercises in the world, pretty much in the manner of Erasmus's Praise of Folly. She perceives, however, that Cupid is so sadly terrified by the threats lately held out to him, that her empire over him is still in danger.

INTRANCED in sleep while Cupid lies,
And downy slumbers seal his eyes,
Distracting cares Moria's breast
Disturb'd, and banish'd balmy rest;
She saw her charmer's fluttering heart
Was almost on the wing to part.

She doubted fear might banish love,
As frights will ague-fits remove.

Rack'd with despair, she rose and walk'd, And wildly to herself she talk'd.

Till roused at last her deluged eyes,
Charm'd with a great design she tries:
Flush'd with the thought, she wings her flight
To the dun Goddess of the Night:
She found her on a mountain's side,
Where rocks her palace portals hide ;
Walls of thick mist its precincts close,
No groves, lodge, cawing rooks, or crows,
But solemn Silence, still as Death,
Lay slumbering on th' extended heath:
Old Nature built it under ground,
Shut from the day, remote from sound ;
Its outstretch'd columns arch'd inclose
Vast voids devoted to repose,
Form'd of huge caverns so obscure,
As 'twere of light the sepulture.

Stretch'd on her couch the Queen she found, Her head with wreaths of poppy crown'd, Each sense dissolved in soft repose.

While storms of grief her bosom swell,
Prostrate the nymph before her fell,
And thus the slothful power address'd:
"Wake, Night's great Goddess, give me rest,
Assist your child-my birth I owe
To you and Erebus below*;

Erebus, the infernal deity, was married to Nox, the goddess, as all mythologists agree; and even Cicero tells us this in his 3rd book of the Nature of the Gods. This

With millions made to me a prey,
I've throng'd the gloomy realms you sway;
Yet Love, who gods and men deceives,
Moria soon perfidious leaves;
Unless your skill divine can find
Some means to keep him true and kind."

Slow the yawning Goddess sighs, And, half asleep, with pain replies:

"As I saw Love was false as fair,
Know, child, I made your peace my care:
While fond to fix his fickle heart,
I've form'd this masterpiece of art:
Here, take this phial, which I've fill'd
With oils from female tears distill'd.

Warm'd with your sighs, bedew it round
His eye-lids, seal'd in trance profound,
And by loved Erebus I swear,
The God your chains shall raptured wear:
Haste, use it-leave me to my rest."
She sunk, with dozing fumes oppress'd.

So quick as airy Fancy flies,

Or beamy light shoots round the skies,
To Cupid's couch she wings her way,
Where, sunk in sleep, the dreamer lay;
Warm'd with her sighs, the oil, in rills,
Soft round his eye-lids she distils,
Then unperceived to bed she stole,
While joys enraptured swell'd her soul.

Wake, wretched Cupid, haste, arise,
Or never shall thy radiant eyes
Nature's fair face again survey,
Or the bright sun's delightful ray;
For by the magic arts of Night
Folly will rob thee of thy sight,
And by mad fondness, undesign'd,
Will make thee senseless, dark, and blind.

And now the virgin Light had rear'd
Her head, and o'er the mountains peer'd,
When Folly, glad her grand design
Was near the springing, like a mine,
Impatient for the great event
Of her dread mother's liniment,
Drew the bed-curtains, wild with joy,
To rouse the soul-subduing boy,
And cried, "Awake, my dear, the sun
Already has its course begun;
Whole nature smiles, while thus we use
The morn, fresh bathed in limpid dews."

Pleased he awakes; his ears rejoice
To hear her sweet bewitching voice,
And, fond, to see her turn'd his eyes,
But, starting, found, with deep surprise,

marriage produced a crowd of horrid children, such as Deceit, Fear, Labour, Envy, and many others, among whom Folly is set down as one.

Yes! since the evil I endure
Is past thy art and mine to cure,
Thou now o'er me and men shalt reign.

Unchanged as fate, the world shall find,
While Folly's faithful, I'll be kind;
And ages yet unborn shall see
How firm my soul is link'd to thee.

Thus the gay hours delightful fly,
Till Folly's own good hour draws nigh,
When, twinged and pain'd, her labour came,
She sends for many a Carian dame;
By great Lucina's help and theirs,
To ease the burthen which she bears.
Great was her danger; for the fright
She took when Cupid lost his sight,
And the dread horror of her crime,
Had made her come before her time:

Yet blest with what she thought a treasure,

A girl at last was born, call'd Pleasure,
Of a weak, sickly, tender make,
Tall, thin, and slender as a rake;
So slight, it scarce would handling bear,
Fainting in spite of Folly's care:
For, as the sensitive plant, it seem'd
To shrink at every touch, and scream'd
Like mandrakes, when their tender shoots
Are torn upwards by the roots.

Make ready straight my car and doves;
Get on your riding-coats and gloves :
Although my power may prove but faint,
When weigh'd with Metis's complaint,
And all my eloquence too weak,
When injured Wisdom comes to speak,
Yet these poor charms perhaps may plead
With Jove, unless your doom's decreed."

They reach'd, each storm and danger past, The mansions of the Gods at last.

Love's cause already was come on,
And Metis had in form begun

A huge philippic on her son.

Alarm'd with this, in haste they dress'd,
And Venus on her snowy breast
The magic cestus secret placed,
And walk'd, with heavenly glory graced.
Love follow'd with his brilliant girl,
Trick'd out with jewels, lace, and pearl ;
Within her fost'ring arms convey'd,
Pleasure her infant charms display'd;
When, all perfumed with civet, came
Where Jove in judgment sat supreme;
There they heard Metis just concluding
A long harangue of Love's eluding
The powers above, and all the vows
He swore, of making her his spouse.

Each, fond to hear the sentence past, To settle heaven and earth at last, Put on their gayest robe and face, The banquet and the God to grace.

The grand repasts of pompous kings, Compared to this, are sordid things.

Sat all the Deities elate,

They ate and drank in golden plate.

Wine cheers their hearts, yet, calm and cool,
Each mused how Jove the cause would rule;
And, when they took the cloth away,
Watch'd the great business of the day.
Straight Jove all Heaven in silence hush'd,
His will pronouncing, laugh'd and blush'd ;
And placing Folly at his side,
Decrees her Cupid's fittest bride;

He shows his reasons (but too long
They would protract the faithful song),
Then toasts her health: the nectar'd bowl

He gives her to enlarge her soul :

She drank so deep, an air divine

O'er all her features seem'd to shine.

"That draught," says Jove, (and, pleased, he

smiled,

Midst all his thunders, sweet and mild)

"Has raised thee, fair Moria, high

As the bright daughters of the sky;
Thou'rt now immortal grown, and fit
Great Love's embraces to admit :
Together calm the frantic earth,
Allay men's woes, augment their mirth;
Sweeten their cares and let them see,
If they're unbless'd, 'tis not from me."

He joins their hands for endless ages,
And bids them scorn censorious sages.
"Let none," said Jove, "while thus they're tied,
Sweet Folly and fond Love divide.

Accursed be his atrocious crime,

Who parts you through the rounds of time;
And let fair Pleasure always be
Beloved by men, by gods, and me.
Yet, prudent Metis, don't despair,
For thou art mine, by Styx I swear§,
My chosen wife, whose counsels still
Shall rule my heart and guide my will,
And with eternal charms control
The fond affections of my soul."

Apuleius represents Jupiter (in his 6th book) making Psyche immortal in this manner, by making her drink out of the bowl which he reached to her.

§ The goddess Metis, or Wisdom, in Hesiod's Theogonia, is set down as one of the wives whom Jupiter married. -Vide Nat. Com. 1. 2. p. 90. cap. 2.

TWEEDSIDE.

WHAT beauties does Flora disclose!
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed!
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy, nor sweet-blushing rose,

Not all the gay flowers of the field, Not Tweed gliding gently through those, Such beauty and pleasure does yield. The warblers are heard in the grove,

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove, With music enchant every bush. Come, let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring ; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love while the feather'd folks sing. How does my love pass the long day? Does Mary not tend a few sheep? Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep? Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest; Kind nature indulging my bliss, To relieve the soft pains of my breast, I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

"Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare : Love's graces around her do dwell;

She's fairest where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray, Oh! tell me at noon where they feed; Shall I seek them on smooth-winding Tay Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed.

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. HEAR me, ye nymphs, and every swain, I'll tell how Peggy grieves me; Though, thus I languish, thus complain, Alas! she ne'er believes me, My vows and sighs, like silent air, Unheeded never move her; At the bonny bush aboon Traquair, "Twas there I first did love her.

That day she smiled, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder;

I thought myself the luckiest lad,
So sweetly there to find her.

I tried to soothe my amorous flame
In words that I thought tender;
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame,
I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May,
Its sweets I'll aye remember;
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.

Ye rural powers, who hear my strains,
Why thus should Peggy grieve me?
Oh! make her partner in my pains,

Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
My passion no more tender,
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.

ON MRS. A. H., AT A CONCERT.

LOOK where my dear Hamilla smiles,
Hamilla! heavenly charmer;
See how with all their arts and wiles
The Loves and Graces arm her.
A blush dwells glowing on her cheeks,
Fair seats of youthful pleasures ;
There Love in smiling language speaks,
There spreads his rosy treasures.

O fairest maid, I own thy power,
I gaze, I sigh, and languish,
Yet ever, ever will adore,
And triumph in my anguish.
But ease,
O charmer, ease my care,
And let my torments move thee;
As thou art fairest of the fair,

So I the dearest love thee.

[* A merchant in Glasgow, one of the sweetest of our lyrical writers, and one of the ingenious young gentlemen that assisted Allan Ramsay in his Tea Table Miscellany. He was alive in 1748, and certainly dead in 1758, having suffered for many years "the most torturing pains of body with an unalterable cheerfulness of temper." It is said that he was drowned crossing over from France to Scotland, but this is very questionable.]