IDYLLIUM VIII.

Love Resistless.

SWEET Venus, daughter of the sea,
How comes such bitter pain from thee?
From thee to whom the power is given
To torture earth, to torture heaven?
Alas! what ills have mortals done
That thou shouldst send them such a son-
Malicious, cruel, full of wiles,

Though luring with his dimply smiles?
Why didst thou give him wings and darts,
Imperious over human hearts—

To fly, where'er he will, so fierce;
And, as he lists, our bosoms pierce?

IDYLLIUM IX.

Friendship.

O BLESS'D are they who love, and are beloved! Thus Theseus his Pirithous' friendship knew; And, though amidst the' infernal regions, drew Pure bliss from converse that exhaustless proved!

Thus too Orestes, happy though he roved

O'er Scythian deserts drear, had power to strew All on the barren waste where'er he moved

Flowers of delight!-for Pylades was true;

Ever the sweet companion of his way!
And thus divine acides was bless'd,
While his associate in the realms of day
Remain'd: and tranquil to Elysian rest
Patroclus flew for his pale breathless clay
Not unavenged the plain of carnage press'd!

FRAGMENTS.

I.

ON HYACINTHUS.

IN wild despondence Phœbus' sorrows flow
Trembling with all the agony of woe!
Each remedy he sought; but no where found
A sanatory balm, to close the wound!
His bathing nectar and ambrosia fail—
Alas! if fate oppose, can art avail?

II.

To repair to an artist, in every case,
Must argue, my friend, little spirit or grace:
How idle another's assistance to ask!
Go-frame thy own pipe-Tis no difficult task.

III.

Go, Love, invite the charming choir of Muses!
Ye, Muses, bring back Love again!

And may your song, that life's sweet balm diffuses,
Sooth away the sense of pain!

IV.

By dropping incessantly, water alone
Can wear to a hollow the hardest of stone!

V.

BUT I still slope my solitary way,
And, whispering cruel Galatea, stray
Along the shelving cliff, beside the beach)
And chase sweet hope, though wing'd beyond
my reach!

O may the lovely phantom yet engage,
E'en at the close of dim declining age;
Dress'd in the tints of dear delusion rise,
Nor disappear till death o'ershade my eyes!

VI.

NOR let me pass without a palm!
Apollo sheds the grateful balm:
But lo! while honour's voice invites,
My breast expands for nobler flights!

VII.

BEAUTY is woman's fairest good!

But that of man is fortitude.