_Oh how fresh the Morning Air!
Charming fresh the Morning Air!_ &c.
Tho' there is little Meaning here, yet the Dancing of the Words and the
Sprightliness of the Images, make it a prettier Lyrick than our
_Italian_ Opera's can produce.
According to my Conception nothing can be prettier than this Thought of
_Buchanan_.
Ilia mihi semper presenti dura _Neæra_;
Me, quoties absum, semper abesse dolet;
Non desiderio, nostro non moeret Amore,
Sed se non nostro posse Dolore frui.
_Cruel, when I am present, she appears;
As often as I'm absent she's in Tears:
Not that_ Neæra _wishes my Return,
To see me love her, but to see me mourn._
These Verses of Mr. _Waller_ are, methinks, as pretty as they are
gallant:
Phillis, _why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the Day!
Cou'd we, which we never can,
Stretch our Lives beyond their Span;
Beauty like a Shadow flies,
And our Youth before us dies.
Or would Youth and Beauty stay,
Love hath Wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter Wings than Time,_ &c.
Notice has been taken of the Prettiness of these Verses in _Dryden_'s
Fable of the _Cock_ and the _Fox_.
The _Cock_ speaks to his Wife Dame _Partlet_:
------------_See my Dear
How lavish Nature hath adorn'd the Year;
How the pale Primrose and the Violet spring,
And Birds essay their Throats, disus'd to sing:
All these are ours, and I with Pleasure see
Man strutting on two Legs, and aping me._
Madam _Dacier_ takes Notice of a very pretty Circumstance in _Sappho_'s
Hymn to _Venus_, translated into _Latin_ by _Catullus_, and into
_English_ by Mr. _Philips_.
_Thou once didst leave Almighty_ Jove,
_And all the golden Roofs above:
The Carre thy wanton Sparrows drew,
Hov'ring in Air, they lightly flew.
As to my Bow'r, they wing'd their Way
I saw their quiv'ring Pinions play:
The Birds dismist, while you remain,
Bore back their empty Carre again._
The Circumstance that renders it so pretty, according to the _Critical
Lady_, is _Venus_'s dismissing her Sparrows and her Carre, and shewing
she did not intend to make _Sappho_ a Court-Visit, but to dwell with her
some Time. There's another Ode of _Sappho_, which is preserved in
_Longinus_, and translated by _Boileau_. It is in the sublime Kind, and
shews the Violence of Love.
_From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame,
When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame:
And as the Transport seizes on my Mind,
I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find.
A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread,
I hear no more, and am to Reason dead;
Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie,
I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die._
In the _Spectator_, Nº 388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter of
_Solomon_'s Song.