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The cymbal's notes to love new warmth convey:
The burning aloe breathes its fragrance round.
O'er all the light faloon with sparkling ray,
The diamond trembles to the dancer's bound,
While with fantastic mirth the dizzy roofs refound.

See glowing virgins lave the polifht limb,
What time they bid the musky bath exhale
Its fteaming odours, and along the brim
The dalliance of the loves lafcivious hail:
Or, when the clear night wafts her cooling gale,
See their fine forms, as eve's laft colours die,
Slow on the flower embroider'd terrace fail;
While, glittering thro' its whole expanfe, the sky
With its deep azure fhade relieves the wearied eye.

Yes!-Home still charms: and he who, clad in fur,
His rapid rein-deer drives o'er plains of fnow,
Would rather to the fame wild tracts recur,
That various life had mark'd with joy or woe,
Than wander, where the spicy breezes blow
To kifs the hyacinths of Azza's hair-

Rather, than where luxuriant fummers glow,
To the white moffes of his hills repair,

And bid his antler train the fimple banquet fhare,

All love their native fpot; whether befide

Their ice-ribb'd mountains thro' a waste of night,
They catch the froft-gales from the stormy tide,
And shiver to the boreal flashes bright;
Or, if the fun vouchfafe a noonday light,

Hail, from the crags, his faint-reflected beams,

And flide, o'er mouldering bridge, from height to height, Where pine, or ebony, or benreed gleams,

To float their huge-hewn planks, along the gulphy streams:

Or, whether blinded by the folar glare,

The moon-ey'd Indian amid poifon'd dews
Tainting the breeze, to baisam groves repair,
And fleep, tho' venom many a plant diffuse:
Or whether he who journeys o'er Peru's
Re-echoing caverns, heap his ore, to pave

The streets with ingots, oft as he pursues
His burthen'd beaft, to where the boiling wave
Once swallow'd Lima's walls, a universal grave.

E'en now, where rages red Vefuvio's flame,
Scarce from the fluid rocks his offspring fly;
Tho' cities, ftrown around, of ancient name,
The monuments of former vengeance lie.

And

And we have mark'd the indiffoluble tie, By which a myriad down the yawning gloom Defcended erft. as Etna fir'd the sky

By which a myriad that efcap'd the doom,

Cling to the fulphur'd fpot, and clafp their comrades' tomb.

DESCRIPTION of HAY-MAKING.

[From BEWSEY, a Poem.]

HERE fee the mowers, to their half-done task

T Early returning, jucund, o'er the grafs,

That yefterday they cut: with ftone well-ply'd,
Bending, they whet the clear-refounding steel;
And now in order plac'd, ftep after step,
Slow following, with fucceffive well-tim'd ftrokes,
The fcythe they brandith: falling at their feet
In femicircles wide, a mingled heap

Of feedling ftalks and flow'rs of various hues
In wild confufion lies, to bloom no more.
Meanwhile a num'rous train of men and boys,
And country maidens, bearing in their hands
The rural trophies, cheerfully begin

Their pleafing toil, and scatter far and wide,
With airy tofs, the odoriferous hay;

Light burden! While as now the climbing fun,
In fplendour clad, pours forth his floping rays
Stronger, the field is all a moving scene
Of gaiety and bufinefs, mirth and toil.
Many the jokes, aad frequent are the laughs,
Enlivening their labour: on the copfe

Of yonder hedge, where gay the wild-rofe blooms,
Is laid the copious can, with needful store
Of liquor fill'd, and cover'd from the fight
Of bufy flies. Full oft the heated swain
Thither is feen to pace, and from the cup
First takes a long, deep draught: then to the fair,
Not afking, but whofe warm ftufli'd cheeks betray
Her thirst, flow carrying, prefents the cup
With awkward gallantry. Fatigued, the band
Awhile repofe: the fun-burnt clown, robuft,
Pulls on his knee his modeft-looking fair,
Pleas'd, and yet half afham'd: ah! happy he,
If from her lips he gains at last the kifs,
With many ftruggles won; nor is ev'n fhe,
Tho' her diforder'd locks with many a frown
Now fhe adjufts, difpleas'd at heart to lofe
The fragrant prize the wifh'd not to withhold.
She feeks not to enfnare a captive train

The cymbal's notes to love new warmth convey:
The burning aloe breathes its fragrance round.
O'er all the light faloon with fparkling ray,
The diamond trembles to the dancer's bound,
While with fantastic mirth the dizzy roofs resound.

See glowing virgins lave the polifht limb,
What time they bid the musky bath exhale
Its fteaming odours, and along the brim
The dalliance of the loves lafcivious hail:
Or, when the clear night wafts her cooling gale,
See their fine forms, as eve's last colours die,
Slow on the flower embroider'd terrace fail;
While, glittering thro' its whole expanfe, the sky
With its deep azure fhade relieves the wearied eye.

Yes! Home ftill charms: and he who, clad in fur,
His rapid rein-deer drives o'er plains of fnow,
Would rather to the fame wild tracts recur,

That various life had mark'd with joy or woe,
Than wander, where the fpicy breezes blow
To kifs the hyacinths of Azza's hair-

Rather, than where luxuriant fummers glow, To the white moffes of his hills repair,

And bid his antler train the fimple banquet fhare.

All love their native fpot; whether befide

Their ice-ribb'd mountains thro' a waste of night,
They catch the froft-gales from the ftormy tide,
And fhiver to the boreal flashes bright;
Or, if the fun vouchfafe a noonday light,

Hail, from the crags, his faint-reflected beams,

And flide, o'er mouldering bridge, from height to height, Where pine, or ebony, or benreed gleams,

To float their huge-hewn planks, along the gulphy streams:

Or, whether blinded by the folar glare,

The moon-ey'd Indian amid poifon'd dews
Tainting the breeze, to balsam groves repair,
And fleep, tho' venom many a plant diffuse:
Or whether he who journeys o'er Peru's
Re-echoing caverns, heap his ore, to pave

The streets with ingots, oft as he pursues
His burthen'd beaft, to where the boiling wave
Once swallow'd Lima's walls, a universal grave.

E'en now, where rages red Vefuvio's flame,
Scarce from the fluid rocks his offspring fly;
Tho' cities, ftrown around, of ancient name,
The monuments of former vengeance lie.

And

And we have mark'd the indiffoluble tie, By which a myriad down the yawning gloom Defcended erft. as Etna fir'd the sky

By which a myriad that escap'd the doom,

Cling to the fulphur'd spot, and clafp their comrades' tomb.

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DESCRIPTION of HAY-MAKING.

[From BEWSEY, a Poem.]

HERE fee the mowers, to their half-done task
Early returning, jocund, o'er the grafs,

That yesterday they cut: with stone well-ply'd,
Bending, they whet the clear-refounding steel;
And now in order plac'd, ffep after step,
Slow following, with fucceffive well-tim'd ftrokes,
The fcythe they brandith: falling at their feet
In femicircles wide, a mingled heap

Of feedling ftalks and flow'rs of various hues
In wild confufion lies, to bloom no more.
Meanwhile a num'rous train of men and boys,
And country maidens, bearing in their hands
The rural trophies, cheerfully begin

Their pleafing toil, and scatter far and wide,
With airy tofs, the odoriferous hay;

Light burden! While as now the climbing fun,
In fplendour clad, pours forth his floping rays
Stronger, the field is all a moving scene
Of gaiety and business, mirth and toil.
Many the jokes, aad frequent are the laughs,
Enlivening their labour: on the copfe

Of yonder hedge, where gay the wild-rofe blooms,
Is laid the copious can, with needful store
Of liquor fill'd, and cover'd from the fight
Of bufy flies. Full oft the heated swain
Thither is feen to pace, and from the cup
First takes a long, deep draught: then to the fair,
Not afking, but whofe warm flufli'd cheeks betray
Her thirit, flow carrying, prefents the cup
With awkward gallantry. Fatigued, the band
Awhile repofe: the fun-burnt clown, robuft,
Pulls on his knee his modeft-looking fair,
Pleas'd, and yet half afham'd: ah! happy he,
If from her lips he gains at last the kifs,
With many ftruggles won; nor is ev'n fhe,
Tho' her diforder'd locks with many a frown
Now fhe adjufts, difpleas'd at heart to lose
The fragrant prize the wifh'd not to withhold.
She feeks not to enfnare a captive train

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Of flaves, to grace the triumph of her eyes;
Nor, having won her lover's faithful heart,
To leave him, proud-exulting in his pains.
For him alone the riband gay is feen,

On Sundays ftreaming in her hat of straw,
Luring at church unwary eyes from pray'rs.
Still near her thro' the field he strives to toil,
And oft, when unperceiv'd, they tell their love
In fidelong glances: language fweet! that speaks
In filence more than all th' affected fop,
Practis'd in flatt'ry's arts, with oily tongue,
Pours in his vainer fair's deluded ears.
Here 'tis, that Love beftrews his pleasing joys,
Unblended with his cares; for here no fears
Of rankling jealoufy difturb the breaft.
He knows his maiden true, as the her swain ;
And fo fhall each be prov'd, for Hymen foon
In bondage fweet fhall join their willing hands.

Be kind, ye Southern breezes! blow not yet,
Nor bid your train of gloomy clouds and flow'rs,
Unwelcome now, deform the tranquil sky!
But let the frequent wain, unftopp'd by rains,
Clear the dry hay field of its dufky piles!

REPAST of LUCIAN and SWIFT, in the House of RIDICULE.

[From the PARADISE of TASTE, by ALEXANDER THOMSON, Efq.]

OW turning to the other table,

NOW

Which rather look'd more comfortable;

Thereon two covers we furvey'd,
And things in rank for fupper laid,
While warm and fnug, another pair
Of fatirifts were feated there-
The Greek, whofe lively fancy drew
So many a pleafing interview;
Who heroes old fo well could show
Converfing in the fades below,
And whofe celeftial dialogues
Made all Olympus whores and rogues
His meffmate was Hibernia's, boast,
In cauftic wit himself a hoft;
Expofe to view who durft prefume
The fecrets of the dreffing-room;
Who ev'n reveal'd to vulgar fight
The raptures of the bridal night,
And trembling Strephon's eager joy,
To find a woman in his Chloe;
But worst of all, whofe faithlefs hand,
At lighted rancour's dire command,

The

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