But there met a frost so great
As his torch extinguish'd straight.

When poor Cupid thus (constrain'd His cold bed to leave) complain'd, "Alas! what lodging's here for me, "If all ice and fire she be?"

The Surprize.

THERE'S no dallying with Love, Though he be a child, and blind; Then let none the danger prove Who would to himself be kind : Smile he does when thou dost play, But his smiles to death betray.

Lately with the boy I sported; Love I did not, yet love feign'd; Had no mistress, yet I courted; Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd:

'Till at last this love in jest Prov'd in earnest my unrest.

When I saw my fair-one first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;

But true flames my poor heart pierc❜d,
When her eyes on mine she turn❜d:
So a real wound I took

For my counterfeited look.

None who loves not, then, make shew;

Love's as ill, deceiv'd as fate:

Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo;

Mock him, and he wounds thee straight.

Ah! who dally boast in vain;

False love wants not real pain.

Love once, love ever.

SHALL I, hopeless, then pursue

A fair shadow that still flies me?

Shall I still adore and woo

A proud heart that does despise me? I a constant love may so,*

But, alas! a fruitless, show.

Whilst these thoughts my soul possess,

Reason Passion would o'ersway,

Bidding me my flames suppress,

Or divert some other

way; But what Reason would pursue,

That my heart runs counter to.

So a pilot, bent to make

Search for some unfound-out land, Does with him the magnet take, Sailing to the unknown strand; But that (steer which way he will) To the loved north points still.

The Sun-rise.

[An Extract.]

THOU youthful goddess of the morn,
Whose blush they in the east adore,
Daughter of Phoebus, who before
Thy all-enlightening sire art born!
Haste and restore the day to me,
That my love's beauteous object I may see!

Too much of time the night devours;

The cock's shrill voice calls thee again: Then quickly mount thy golden wain, Drawn by the softly-sliding hours,

And make apparent to all eyes

With what enamel thou dost paint the skies!

Ah, now I see the sweetest dawn!
Thrice welcome to my longing sight!
Hail, divine beauty, heavenly light!
I see thee through yon cloud of lawn
Appear, and as thy star does glide,
Blanching with rays the east on every side!

Dull Silence, and the drowsy king
Of sad and melancholy dreams,
Now fly before thy cheerful beams,
The darkest shadows vanquishing:
The owl, that all the night did keep
A hooting, now is fled, and gone to sleep.

But all those little birds, whose notes
Sweetly the listening ear enthrall,
To the clear water's murmuring fall
Accord their disagreeing throats;
The lustre of that greater star

Praising, to which thou art but harbinger.

*

With holy reverence inspir'd,
When first the day renews its light,

The earth, at so divine a sight,
Seems as if all one altar fir'd,

Reeking with perfumes to the skies,
Which she presents, her native sacrifice.

The humble shepherd, to his rays
Having his rustic homage paid,
And to some cool retired shade
Driven his bleating flocks to graze,
Sits down, delighted with the sight
Of that great lamp, so mild, so fair, so bright.

The bee through flowery gardens goes,

Buzzing, to drink the morning's tears,
And from the early Lily bears

A kiss commended to the Rose,

And, like a wary messenger,

Whispers some amorous story in her ear.*

* The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and unnatural.