SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY*,
FLutt'ring fpread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart; I a flave in thy dominions; Nature must give way to art.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days confuming,
All beneath yon flow'ry rocks.
Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth :
Him the Boar in filence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.
Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers
Fair Difcretion, ftring the lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking flumbers:
Bright Apollo, lend thy choir!
TUQUE adeo rofeas expande volatilis alas,
Et leviter pectus tange, Cupido, meum. Imperiis, pulchelle, tuis ego fervulus ultro; Naturam ars victrix fcilicet ufque domat.
Arcades, æterno viridantes flore juventæ,
Nocte innutantes qualibet inter oves,
Afpicite, ut fenfim languens juvenilior ætas,
Hæc juxta, hæc, inquam florea faxa perit!
Ante omnes carum fic flevit Adonida Cypris,
Deceptufque Deam triftius uffit Amor;
Hunc, tacitè adrepens per denfa filentia noctis
Incautum fævo dente momordit Aper.
Stringe lyram interea pulchre Prudentia ludens,
Harmoniæque graves, Cynthia, funde modos!
Doctæ ambæ vigiles curas fopire canendo,
Tuque tuum imperti, Præfes Apollo, chorum!
Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Wat'ring foft Elyfian plains.
Mournful cyprefs, verdant willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.
Melancholy, fmooth Mæander.
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,
With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.
Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly feeks her filent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping;
Melody refigns to fate.
Tuque adamanteis, Pluton, armate catenis,
O Tu Terrorum Rex, metuende Deus,
Duc me, qua paffim chryftallina flumina currunt,
Elyfiique lavat lucida lympha nemus.
Vos etiam mæfti falices, triftesque cupreffi,
Aureliæ æternum ferta dicata meæ ;
Audi etiam, Morpheu, divum placidiffime Morpheu,
Ut queror, ut penitus maceror igne novo.
Trifte fluens, fed lene fluens, Mæander, amæno Murmure qui curfum flexilis orbe rotas! Margine fæpe etiam quam plurimus erat amator, Cui tua fubmittunt florea dona decus.
Sic quando fenfim languens Philomela, filentem
Mollior aggreditur, nec fine voce, procum;
Afpice, de cœlo interea Junonius ales
Defcendens, fato cedit inane Melos.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.
GOD of the Bow! Apollo, thee I fing;
Thee, as thou draw'ft amain the founding ftring,
Th' immortal pow'rs revere with homage low,
And ev'ry godhead trembles at thy bow.
All but Latona: She with mighty Jove
Eyes thee with all a tender parent's love;
Clofes thy quiver, thy tough bow unbends,
And high amid th' æthereal dome fufpends,
Then fmiling leads thee, her all-glorious fon,
To share the mighty Thunderer's awful throne,
Goblets of nectar thy glad fire prepares,
And thee, his fairest, noblest son declares;
While ev'ry god fits rapt, Latona's breaft
Beats with fuperior joy, and hails her fon confeft.
Thrice bleft Latona! from thee, Goddefs, fprung
Diana chafte, and Phoebus ever-young:
|