“The wild fancy restrain, Light ill-omen’d is this, Where but lures thee to whelm A fatal abyss. “Of thy happier years Is the verdure dispell’d, And what were then graces Now vices are held. “Thou art man! it befits Thee repenting in truth, To gild virtuous with toils The errors of youth!” I yield, from the current I tremblingly fly: But with eyes looking back, Repeat with a sigh,-- “If to fall be a sin, What hast thou, Nature, meant? The path made so easy, So sweet the descent? “How blest are the creatures, With instincts secure, Whom to swerve from the right No perils allure!” OF THE SCIENCES. I applied myself to science, In its great truths believing, That from my troubles I hence Some ease might be receiving. O! what a sad delusion! What lessons dear I learn’d me! To verses in conclusion, And mirth and dance I turn’d me. As if it were that life could Produce so little trouble, That we with toils and strife would Make each one of them double. I stand by smiling Bacchus, In joys us wont to wrap he; The wise, Dorila, lack us The knowledge to be happy. What matters it, if even In fair as diamond splendour, The sun is fix’d in heaven? Me light he’s born to render. The moon is, so me tell they, With living beings swarmy; “There may be thousands,” well they Can never come to harm me! From Danube to the Ganges, History tells how did he The Macedonian launch his Proud banner fierce and giddy! What’s that to us, to entice us, If only half this valley, To feed our lambs suffice us, With all our wants to tally? If not, leave all to justice: Give me some drink, o’erpower’d With but to name this goddess, I feel myself a coward. They much who study ever Have thousand plagues annoy them; Which in their best endeavour Their peace and joy destroy them: And then what do they gather? A thousand doubts upspringing, Which other puzzlings farther Them other doubts are bringing. And so through life they haste on, One enviable truly! Disputes and hates to waste on, And ne’er agreeing throughly. My shepherd girl! but bring me Then wine abundant very, And fear not songs I’ll sing thee, As endlessly and merry. THE DISDAINFUL SHEPHERDESS. If, as thou sayst, thou lovest me well, Dear girl, those scornfulnesses cease; For love can ne’er in union dwell With such asperities. Show sharp disdain, to plight if e’er Another proffers thee his troth; To two at once to listen fair Is an offence to both. Let one be chosen, so to prove How great your happiness may be; Thou calmly to enjoy his love, And he to love thee free;