Go, tuneful Bird! that gladd'st the skies,
To Daphne's window speed thy way,
And there on quiv'ring pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
And if she deign thy notes to hear,
And if she praise thy matin song,
Tell her the sounds that sooth her ear
To Damon's native plains belong.
Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,
The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely partial maid
What are his notes compar'd to thine ?
Then bid her treat yon witless beau,
And all his flaunting race, with scorn,
And lend an ear to Damon's wo,
Who sings her praise, and sings forlorn.
Ah! ego non aliter tristes evincere morbos
Optarem, quam te sic quoque velle putem.
IMITATION.
Why should I wish to banish sore disease,
Unless returning health my Delia please?
ON ev'ry tree, in ev'ry plain,
I trace the jovial spring in vain ;
A sickly languor veils mine eyes,
And fast my waning vigour flies.
Nor flow'ry plain nor budding tree,
That smile on others, smile on me ;
Mine eyes from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What bliss to me can seasons bring?
Or what the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.
'Tis true, my vine, so fresh and fair,
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural store some pleasure yield,
So white a flock, so green a field!
Ah! ego non aliter tristes evincere morbos
Optarem, quam te sic quoque velle putem.
IMITATION.
Why should I wish to banish sore discase,
Unless returning health my Delia please?
ON ev'ry tree, in ev'ry plain,
I trace the jovial spring in vain ;
A sickly languor veils mine eyes,
And fast my waning vigour flies.
Nor flow'ry plain nor budding tree,
That smile on others, smile on me;
Mine eyes from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What bliss to me can seasons bring?
Or what the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.
'Tis true, my vine, so fresh and fair,
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural store some pleasure yield,
So white a flock, so green a field!
My friends, that each in kindness vie,
Might well expect one parting sigh;
Might well demand one tender tear;
For when was Damon insincere?
But ere I ask once more to view
Yon setting sun his race renew,
Inform me, Swains! my Friends! declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer?
The Attribute of Venus.
YES; Fulvia is like Venus fair,
Has all her bloom, and shape, and air
But still, to perfect ev'ry grace,
She wants the smile upon her face.
The crown majestic Juno wore,
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But smiles distinguish'd Beauty's queen.
Her train was form'd of Smiles and Loves;
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves;
And from her zone the nymph may find
'Tis Beauty's province to be kind.
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