When Phoebus shone his brightest ray,
The rip'ning corn his pow'r confess'd;
His cheering beams made Nature gay,
The eagle in his warmth was blest.

But malcontents e'en then arose,

The birds who love the dolesome night
The darkest grove with care they chose,
And there caball'd against the light.

The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
Portends strange things, old women say,
Stops every fool that passes by,

And frights the schoolboy from his play.

The raven and the double bat,

With families of owls combine;

In close consult they rail and chat,
And curse aloud the glorious shine.

While the great planet, all serene,
Heedless pursues his destin'd way,
He asks not what these murmurs mean,
But runs his course, and gives us day.

BALLAD ON A LATE OCCURRENCE.

1

AMONG LADY M. W. MONTAGU'S MSS.'

UNGODLY papers ev'ry week

Poor simple souls persuade

That courtiers good for nothing are,
Or but for mischief made.

But I who know their worthy hearts,

Pronounce that we are blind,

and other

1 It is very improbable that Lady Mary wrote this poem. There are "among her MSS." a great many poems, both in her own persons' handwritings, which are certainly not by her.-T.

Who disappoint their honest schemes,
Who would be just and kind.

For in this vile degen'rate age
'Tis dang'rous to do good;

Which will, when I have told my tale,
Be better understood.

A puppy, gamesome, blithe and young,
Who play'd about the court,
Was destin'd by unlucky boys,
To be their noonday's sport.

With flatt'ring words they him entic'd,
(Words such as much prevail !)
And then with cruel art they tied
A bottle to his tail.

Lord Hervey at a window stood,
Detesting of the fact;

And cried aloud with all his might,
"I know the bottle's crack'd.

"Do not to such a dirty hole
Let them your tail apply;
Alas! you cannot know these things
One half so well as I.

"Harmless and young, you don't suspect

The venom of this deed;
But I see through the whole design,-
It is to make you bleed."

puppy saw it shine;

And tamely lick'd their treach'rous hands, And thought himself grown fine.

But long he had not worn the gem,
But, as Lord Hervey said,

He ran and bled; the more he ran,
Alas! the more he bled.

Griev'd to the soul, this gallant lord
Tripp'd hastily down stairs;
With courage and compassion fir'd,
To set him free prepares.

But such was his ingratitude
To this most noble lord,

He bit his lily hand quite through,
As he untied the cord.

Next day the Maids of Honour came,
As I heard people tell;

They wash'd the wound with brinish tears,
-And yet it is not well.

Oh! gen'rous youth, my counsel take,
And warlike acts forbear;

Put on white gloves, and lead folks out,
-For that is your affair.1

Never attempt to take away

Bottles from others' tails,

For that is what no soul will bear
From Italy to Wales.

SONG.

BLAME not that love, too cruel fair, Which your own charms did first create; Blame not my silence and despair,

Such crimes can ne'er deserve

your

hate :

Why should your eyes first stir desire?
Your matchless wit, why fan the fire?
Repentance comes too late.

Vain are the vows that you complain
Are to another fondly made;

'Lord Hervey was at that time vice-chamberlain.-D.

All your advice to me's as vain;
You must not-cannot be obey'd;

My heart can't change, though you command,
Nor can my heart obey your hand!

Love's power none can evade!

[Lord Wharncliffe here inserted some "Lines written under the Picture of Colonel Churchill," they having been found attributed to Lady Mary in a commonplace-book of Lady Mary Finch. This fact is, of course, no evidence of authorship. The lines were, in fact, written by David Mallet, and published among his poems.-T.]

VERSES, WRITTEN IN A GARDEN.

SEE how the pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves;
And, heedless of censorious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys;
No fears of future want molest
The downy quiet of their nest:
No int'rest join'd the happy pair,
Securely blest in Nature's care,
While her dictates they pursue;
For constancy is Nature too.

Can all the doctrine of the schools,
Our maxims, our religious rules,
Can learning to our lives ensure,
Virtue so bright, or bliss so pure ?
The great Creator's happy ends
Virtue and pleasure ever blends:
In vain the Church and Court have tried
Th' united essence to divide;

Alike they find their wild mistake,

The pedant priest and giddy rake.

SONG.

FOND wishes you pursue in vain,
My heart is vow'd away and gone;
Forbear thy sighs, too, lovely swain,
Those dying airs that you put on!

Go try on other maids your art,
Ah! leave this lost unworthy heart,
But you must leave it soon.

Such sighs as these you should bestow
On some unpractis'd blooming fair;
Where rosy youth doth warmly glow,
Whose eyes forbid you to despair.
Not all thy wond'rous charms can move
A heart that must refuse your love,
Or not deserve your care.

IMPROMPTU, TO A YOUNG LADY SINGING.

SING, gentle maid-reform my breast,

And soften all my care;

Thus may I be some moments blest,
And easy in despair.

The pow'r of Orpheus lives in you;
You can the passions of my soul subdue,
And tame the lions and the tigers there.

ADVICE.

CEASE, fond shepherd-cease desiring
What you never must enjoy;
She derides your vain aspiring,
She to all your sex is coy.

Cunning Damon once pursu'd her,
Yet she never would incline;
Strephon too as vainly woo'd her,
Though his flocks are more than thine.

At Diana's shrine aloud,

By the zone around her waist,
Thrice she bow'd, and thrice she vow'd

Like the Goddess to be chaste.