The gay-plum'd natives of the shades
Unwearied sing till love invades,

Then bill, then sing again, while love and music make

the day.

III.

The stubborn plough had then

Made no rude rapes upon the virgin earth,

Who yielded of her own accord her plenteous birth, Without the aid of men;

As if within her teeming womb,

All nature and all sexes lay,
Whence new creations every day
Into the happy world did come:
The roses filled with morning dew,
Bent down their loaded heads,

To adorn the careless shepherd's grassy beds; While still new opening buds each moment grew And as these wither'd drest his shaded couch anew; Beneath whose boughs the snakes securely dwelt, Not doing harm, nor harm from others felt;

With whom the nymphs did innocently play,

No spiteful venom in the wantons lay,

But to the touch were soft, and to the sight were gay.

IV.

Then no rough sound of war's alarms,

Had taught the world the needless use of arms:

Monarchs were uncreated then,

Those arbitrary rulers over men ;

Kings that made laws first broke them, and the gods] By teaching us religion first, first set the world at odds. Till then ambition was not known

That poison to content, bane to repose;

Each swain was lord o'er his own will alone,
His innocence religion was, and laws,

Nor needed

any troublesome defence

Against his neighbour's insolence.

Flocks, herds, and every necessary good
Which bounteous nature had design'd for food,
Whose kind increase o'erspread the meads and plains,
Was then a common sacrifice to all the agreeing swains.

V.

Right and property were words since made,
When power taught mankind to invade;
When pride and avarice became a trade
Carried on by discord, noise and wars,
For which they barter'd wounds and scars,
And to inhance the merchandise miscall'd it fame;
And rapes, invasions, tyrannies,

Was gaining of a glorious name,

Stiling their savage slaughters, victories;
Honour, the error and the cheat
Of the ill-natur'd busy great,
Nonsense invented by the proud
Fond idol of the slavish croud,

Thou wert not known in those blest days!

Thy poison was not mixt with their unbounded joys!
Then it was glory to pursue delight

And that was lawful all that pleasure did invite
Then 'twas the amorous world enjoy'd its reign,
And tyrant honour strove t' usurp in vain.

VI.

The flow'ry meads the rivers and the groves
Were filled with little gay-wing'd loves,

:

That ever smiled and danced and play'd

And now the woods, and now the streams invade,

And where they came all things were gay

When in the myrtle groves the lovers sat
Opprest with a too fervent heat,

and glad:

A thousand Cupids fann'd their wings aloft,
And through the boughs the yielding air did waft;
Whose parting leaves discovered all below,

And every god his own soft power admir'd,

And smiled, and frowned, and sometimes bent his bow.

*

The swift paced hours of life soon steal away,
Stint not ye Gods our short-liv'd'joy!

The spring decays, but when the winter's gone,
The trees and flowers anew come on;

The sun may set, but when the night is fled,
And gloomy darkness does retire,

He rises from his wat'ry bed,

All glorious, gay, all drest in amorous fire!

But Silvia, when your beauties fade,

When the fresh roses on your cheek shall die,-Like flowers that wither in the shade,

Eternally they will forgotten lie!

And no kind spring its sweetness will supply
When snow shall on those lovely tresses lie!
When your fair eyes no more shall give us pain,
But shoot their pointless darts in vain,

What will your duller honour signify?

Go boast it then! and see what numerous store
Of lovers will your ruin'd shrine adore!
Then let us, Silvia, yet be wise,

And the gay hasty minutes prize;

Our sun and spring receive but one short light,
Once set, a sleep brings on eternal night.

K

This poem exhibits the talents of Mrs. Behn to advantage; it is one of her best, and written with much care. There are few things in our poetry better than the last stanza; the thought itself has probably occurred to all poets, and may be considered as a poetic commonplace, but it certainly was never expressed in language more elegant, nor in verse more harmonious. Waller's beautiful song, "Go lovely rose," was probably written about the same time, and is one of the most elegant lyric poems in any language. It has been overlooked by late collectors, and we may perhaps be excused for inserting it in this place, by way of comparison, as it is grounded on the same idea with the above stanza.It needs to be once read only, to be for ever fixed in all poetic memories.

Go lovely rose,

Tell her that wastes her time, and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be!

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spy'd,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died!

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retir'd:

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desir'd,

And not blush so to be admir'd

Then die!-that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;

How small a space of time they share,

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

SONG.

Love armed.

Love in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create, And strange tyrannic power he shew'd.

From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire

Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears;
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears;
And every killing dart from thee!

Thus thou and I the god have arm'd,
And set him up a deity:

But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.

SONG.

The Invitation.

Damon, I cannot blame your will,
'Twas chance and not design did kill;
For whilst you did prepare your charms,
On purpose Silvia to subdue,
I met the arrows as they flew,
And saved her from their harms.