While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more: The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires: 10 And vows that himself and his mother will mourn, Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.

Forbear your addresses, and court us no more,
For we will perform what the deity swore:
But if you dare think of deserving our charms, 15
Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms:
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return.

SONG.

FAIR, Sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserv'd for your victorious eyes:

From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
O pity, and distinguish me!

As I from thousand beauties more
Distinguish you, and only you adore.

Your face for conquest was design'd,
Your every motion charms my mind;
Angels, when you your silence break,
Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;

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But when at once they hear and view,

Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.

No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost, unless you love ;
While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.

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SONG.

HIGH state and honours to others impart,

But give me your heart :

That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,

My soul does inspire;
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave;

Give me in possessing
So matchless a blessing;
That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition ;

If e'er you discover

So faithful a lover,

So real a flame,

I'll die, I'll die,

So give up my game.

SONG.

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.

To souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That music should in sounds convey

What dying lovers dare not say.

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A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

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Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase,

That soon they will be past redress;
But ah! the wretch that speechless lies
Attends but death to close his eyes.

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SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY,

GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING.

ASK not the cause, why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear ;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year
Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great god of love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invadė,

And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst plac'd such power before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

When Chloris to the temple comes,

Adoring crowds before her fall:
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recall.

I only am by love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.

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ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC; AN ODE IN HONOUR OF
ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

I.

"Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound:

(So should desert in arms be crown'd.)

The lovely Thais, by his side,

Sate like a blooming Eastern bride

In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

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