Anacreontic, 1738.

ANACREONTIC,

By the Same.

'TWAS in a cool Aonian glade, The wanton Cupid, spent with toil, Had sought refreshment from the shade; And stretch'd him on the mossy soil.

A vagrant Muse drew nigh, and found The subtle traitor fast asleep; And is it thine to snore profound, She said, yet leave the world to weep?

But hush — from this auspicious hour, The world, I ween, may rest in peace; And robb'd of darts, and stript of pow'r, Thy peevish petulance decrease.

Sleep on, poor child! whilst I withdraw, And this thy vile artillery hide — When the Castalian fount she saw, And plung'd his arrows in the tide.

That magic fount — ill-judging maid! Shall cause you soon to curse the day You dar'd the shafts of Love invade; And gave his arms redoubled sway.

For, in a stream so wonderous clear, When angry Cupid searches round, Will not the radiant points appear? Will not the furtive spoils be found?

Too soon they were; and every dart, Dipt in the Muse's mystic spring, Acquir'd new force to wound the heart; And taught at once to love and sing.

Then farewell ye Pierian quire; For who will now your altars throng? From Love we learn to swell the lyre; And Echo asks no sweeter song.