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ON THE APPROACH OF MAY.
The virgin, when soften'd by May,
Attends to the villager's vows; The birds sweetly bill on the spray,
And poplars embrace with their boughs; On Ida bright Venus may reign,
Adored for her beauty above!
Hail May as the mother of love.
Fond zephyr caresses the vine; The bee steals a kiss from the rose,
And willows and woodbines entwine : The pinks by the rivulet side,
That border the vernal alcove, Bend downward to kiss the soft tide:
For May is the mother of love. May tinges the butterfly's wing,
He flutters in bridal array! And if the wing'd foresters sing,
Their music is taught them by May. The stockdove, recluse with her mate,
Conceals her fond bliss in the grove, And murmuring seems to repeat
That May is the mother of love. The goddess will visit you soon,
Ye virgins! be sportive and gay: Get your pipes, oh ye shepherds ! in tune,
For music must welcome the May.
Would Damon have Phillis prove kind,
And all his keen anguish remove,
That May is the mother of love.
ON THE LATE ABSENCE OF MAY.
1771. THE rooks in the neighbouring grove
For shelter cry all the long day: Their huts in the branches above
Are cover'd no longer by May: The birds that so cheerfully sung,
Are silent, or plaintive each tone, And, as they chirp low to their young,
The want of their goddess bemoan. No daisies on carpets of green,
O'er Nature's cold bosom are spread; Not a sweetbriar sprig can be seen,
To finish this wreath for my head: Some flowerets indeed
be found, But these neither blooming nor gay; The fairest still sleep in the ground,
And wait for the coming of May. December, perhaps, has purloin'd
Her rich though fantastical geer; With envy the months may have join'd,
And jostled her out of the year: Some shepherds, 'tis true, may repine,
To see their loved gardens undress’d, But I- whilst my Phillida's mine,
Shall always have May in my breast.
ANT AND CATERPILLAR. As an Ant, of his talents superiorly vain, Was trotting, with consequence, over the plain, A Worm, in his progress remarkably slow, (go; Cried Bless your good worship wherever you I hope your great mightiness won't take it ill, I pay my respects with a hearty good will.' With a look of contempt and impertinent pride,
Begone, you vile reptile (his Antship replied); Go-go and lament your eontemptible state, But first-look at me-see my limbs how com
plete; I guide all my motions with freedom and ease, Run backward and forward, and turn when I
please: Of nature (grown weary), you shocking essay! I spurn you thus from me-crawl out of my way.'
The reptile insulted, and vex'd to the soul, Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole; But nature, determined to end his distress, Soon sent him abroad in a Butterfly's dress.
Ere long the proud Ant, as repassing the road (Fatigued from the harvest, and tugging his load), The beau on a violet bank he beheld, Whose vesture, in glory, a monarch's excell'd;
His plumage expanded—'twas rare to behold
The Ant quite amazed at a figure so gay, Bow'd low with respect and was trudging away: Stop, friend (says the Butterfly)—don't be sur
prised, I once was the reptile you spurn’d and despised; But now I can mount, in the sunbeams I play, While you must, for ever, drudge on in your way.'
MORAL. A wretch, though to-day he's o'erloaded with sorrow,
(morrow. May soar above those that oppress'd him-to
THE ROSE AND BUTTERFLY. At day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride :
[clare, She blush'd when she heard him his passion deAnd tenderly told him he need not despair.
Their faith was soon plighted; as lovers will do, He swore to be constant, she vow'd to be true.
It had not been prudent to deal with delay, The bloom of a rose passes quickly away, And the pride of a butterfly dies in a day.
When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies, From floweret to floweret he wantonly flies; Nor did he revisit his bride, till the sun Had less than one fourth of his journey to run.
The Rose thus reproach'd him-- Already so cold!
(told ! How feign’d, O you false one! the passion you 'Tis an age since you left me: she meant a few hours;
[flowers : But such we'll suppose the fond language of
I saw when you gave the base violet a kiss : How-how could you stoop to a meanness like this?
[spise, Shall a low little wretch, whom we Roses deFind favour, O love! in my Butterfly's eyes? On a tulip quite tawdry I saw your fond rape, Nor yet could the pitiful primrose escape : Dull daffodils too were with ardour address’d, And poppies ill scented you kindly caress’d.' The coxcomb was piqued, and replied with a sneer,
[my dear; • That you're first to complain, I commend you, But know, from your conduct my maxims I drew, And if I'm inconstant, I copy
you. I saw the boy Zephyrus rifle your charms, I saw how you simper'd and smiled in his arms; The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown, You favour'd besides-0 dishonour!-a drone; Yet worse—'tis a crime that you must not deny, Your sweets were made common, false Rose!
to a fly.'
This law, long ago, did Love's Providence make, That every Coquette should be cursed with a