290 LYRIC -POBIIIS. 2 Say, Damon, say, how bright the scene! Damon is half-divinely blest, Leaning his head on his Fforelia's breast, Without a jealous. thought, or busy care between : Then the sweet passions mix and share 9 Florella tells thee all ber heart, Nor can thy soul's remotest part Conceal a thought or wish from the beloved fair. Say, what a pitch thy pleasures fly, When friendshipall- sincere grows up to ecstacy, Nor self contracts the bliss, nor vice pollutes the joy. While thy dear offspring roundthee sit, Or sporting innocently at thy feet, Thy kindest thoughts engage : Those little images of thee, What pretty toys of youth they be, And growing props of age! 3 But short is earthly bliss ! The changing wind Blows from the sickly South, and brings Malignant fevers on its sultry wings, Relentless death sits close behind : Now gasping infants, and a wife in tears, With piercing groans salutes his ears, Thro' every vein the thrilling torments roll : While sweet and bitter are at strife In those dear miseries- of life, Those tenderest pieces of his bleeding soul. The pleasing sense of love awhile Mixt with the heart-ache may the pain beguile, And make a feeble fight : Till sorrows like a gloomy deluge rise, Then every smiling passion dies, And hope alone with wakeful eyes Darkling and solitary waits the slow returning light. 4 Here then let my ambition rest, May I be moderately blest When I the laws of love obey:. Let but my pleasure and my pain In equal balance ever reign, Or mount by turns and sink again, And share just measures of alternate sway. So Damon lives, and ne'er complains ; Scarce can we hope diviner scenes On this dull stage of clay : The tribes beneath the Northern bear Submit to darkness half the year, Since half the year is day.
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