Her placid looks bespoke a mind serene, Each feature wore an unaffected smile; Her’s was the pow’r to beautify the scene, And sweetly gay the languid hours beguile. Her count’nance milder than an April morn, When Phœbus first emits his infant rays; More radiant beauties do her mind adorn, Than ere were brighten’d by his noon-tide blaze. Fair Virtue, cloth’d in all it’s native sweets, Celestial precepts in her breast inlaid; And oft, as friendly intercourse invites, In softest accents from her lips convey’d. But now she’s gone, a sullen sadness reigns! Absorb’d in grief we still her absence mourn, Or beg that heaven would smile upon our plains, And grant a blessing in her swift return. THE _FICKLE PAIR_. Damon and Phillis, ’tother day, To Hymen’s altar hasten’d; They talk’d of love along the way, And wish’d the knot well fasten’d. A church the willing pair perceiv’d, With portals wide expanded; The priest a speedy audience crav’d, And in the bride was handed. When lo! a tremor seiz’d the fair, In marriage robes adorned; She left the youth perplex’d with care, The rites yet unperformed. With eager steps he swift pursu’d The object of his wishes, And with redoubl’d ardour woo’d Her to complete his blisses. The maid, reluctant, turn’d again, Some glances kind bestowing; And well resolv’d appear’d the swain, Though with resentment glowing. Kind Hymen heav’d his torch, while they Re-enter’d both together; But Cupid slily took his way, And went--they knew not whither. The bridegroom next--but what of that, No bride his absence mourned; He play’d his charmer tit for tat; He went but ne’er returned. Philander kindly fill’d his place; To Damon Chloe consented. That night they wed, O woful case! And ere next morn repented. TO A LADY, A PATRONESS OF THE MUSES, ON HER _RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS_. While sickness, madam, on your vitals prey’d, The sympathetic sisters shar’d your pain: I mark’d them then in sable weeds array’d, In concert sad assume the plaintive strain. From Elly’s[1] Land was heard the harp of wo; A shepherd, once the blithest of the throng, Did mirth inspiring, sportive notes forego, And steep’d in tears the melancholy song. From _Irvine’s_ verdant banks, a doleful lay Re-echo’d through the groves and distant dale; Each vocal throat was fill’d with dire dismay, And heart-felt sighs proclaim’d th’ unwelcome tale. Quick and unstable are the turns of Fate; ’Twixt well and wo are thin partitions rear’d: I mark’d the drooping choir with hearts elate, Exulting o’er the ills so lately fear’d. When brooding on the verge of deep despair, A gladd’ning voice did through the groves resound; Loud acclamations fill’d the ambient air, And joy and pleasure triumph’d all around. Health, blooming goddess, re-assum’d her sway, And did the tender, captive frame release; All seem’d intent the tidings to convey, In notes more grateful than the whisp’ring breeze.