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LOVE AND PRUDENCE.
BY LAURA SOPHIA TEMPLE.
'Twas yet the dawn of youth's gay hour
“ Check thy wild course, and follow me."
Then, then, cold Nymph, I'll follow thee." She sigh'd and went;-I dropt a tear, But still pursued my mad career. While thus I joyous skipt along, I heard a soft and melting song;
Onward I bounded,- for the strain
And mournful whisper'd, “ Follow me.”
I cannot-will not follow thee."
my weak lips to tell
“ Prudence, I will not follow thee."
dark and vast despair
“ Lead on, (I cried) I'll follow thee." EXETER, APRIL 20, 1806.
HORACE *, ODE VII. BOOK III.
TRANSLATED BY THE LATE REV. W. B. STEVENS,
Why fall those tears on fair Asterie's breast?
Spring's earliest zephyrs shall restore ;
Thy lover to his native shore.
Whilst adverse tempests rend the deep :
Is but to think of thee, and weep.
And bids her prompted friend in vain,
The sighing progress of her pain.
How from the dame cold Peleus filed,
The verge of Hell for Beauty's bed:
To heal a woman's wounded pride,
And the chaste fool had nearly died.
“The true forte of Horace, in his Odes, is not perhaps the “ sublime. It seems to me that he is never so much at home as " when he expatiates upon common topics, where he can indulge " his genius in a certain vein of elegant familiarity.
In vain her treacherous eloquence assails
With soft insinuating aim,
His ears, his heart reject her claim.
Th'artillery of the wanton fair,
Ah, lest he charm too much beware!
The martial plain's superior pride; What tho' his arms victoriously precede
Each youth who swims the Tuscan tide; Still from thy threshold, at approach of eve,
Let thy barred gate his steps deny ;
With airs of tenderest minstrelsy,
But let the baffled gallant find,
He may not hope to prove thee kind !
TO MAJOR ROOKE, OF MANSFIELD,
for the last Two Years.
Come reach me old Anacreon's lyre,
For wintry snows are lowering near, And soon shall chill th' autumnal fire
That gleams on life's declining year. Then let me wake the rapturous shell,
With cords of sweet remembrance strung; While grateful Age delights to tell
Of joys that glow'd when life was young. And, lest 'the languid pulse forego
The throb that Fancy's flight inspires, Anacreon's flowing cup bestow,
And urge with wine the waning fires. But temper me the Teian bowl!
And chasten me the Teian shell! The visions that in memory
To no polluted ear addrest;
But boys that hang on Beauty's breast.
Where native Venus lights the way, Shall yet excursive Fancy rove,
Inebriate with the wanton lay,