THE

LILY AND THE ROSE.

I.

THE nymph must lose her female friend,
If more admir'd than she-

But where will fierce contention end,
If flow'rs can disagree?

II.

Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appear'd two lovely foes,

Aspiring to the rank of queen,

The Lily and the Rose.

III.

The Rose soon redden'd into rage,

And, swelling with disdain, Appeal'd to many a poet's page To prove her right to reign.

IV.

The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flow'r;

She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her pow'r.

V.

This civil bick'ring and debate

The goddess chanc'd to hear,

And flew to save, ere yet too late.
The pride of the parterre.

VI.

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,

And yours the statelier mein; And, till a third surpasses you,

Let each be deem'd a queen.

VII.

Thus, sooth'd and reconcil'd, each seek

The fairest British fair:

The seat of empire is her cheeks,

They reign united there.

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.

I.

HEU inimicitias quoties parit æmula forma,
Quam raro pulchræ pulchra placere potest!

Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.
II.

Hortus ubi dulces præbet tacitosque recessus,
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas;
Hic sibi regalis Amaryllis candida cultus,
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.

III.

Ira Rosam et meritis quæsita superbia tangunt,
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu,
Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum,
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.

IV.

Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat,

Ceu flores inter non habitura parem,

Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus
Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat.
V.

Nec Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixæ,
Cui curæ est pictas pandere ruris opes,
Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri,
Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest.

VI.

Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit;
Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color;
Et donec vincat quædam formosior ambas,
Et tibi reginæ nomen, et esto tibi.

VII.

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham, Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit;

Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, hujus Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis.

THE POPLAR FIELD.

THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade, And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elaps'd, since I last took a view
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew;
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat,

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,

With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;