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121

TIME's ANSWER.

Sweet flow thy numbers, Oh! ingrateful fair,
And tuneful error marks thy polish'd rhyme
But know tho' mine to give the silver hair,
'Twas thy own Thyrsis, beg'd the boon of time;
Thyrsis high glowing yet in manhood's hour,
Who prematurely sought an earnest of my pow'r,
Mov'd by his pray'r those wintry wreaths I wove,
Twisting my snow-drops with the rose of youth;
But still 'twas Thyrsis's gentle fraud to prove,
His Daphne's friendship, and his Daphnes truth:
“Oh! strew thy partial whitness (thus he said)
“Oh let thy snowy symbols strait invest my head!

122

“So shall I see, if chill'd by thy advance,
“She with life's summer moment's shall recede;
“So shall I see, if with youth's fleeting glance,
“From age's menace, Daphne too shall speed;
“So shall I triumph if I find the fair,
“Defy the snowy wreaths, the monuments of Care.”
Then wherefore tyrant? Fair ingrate 'tis mine,
When falls man's short-liv'd blossom of an hour
To touch affection with a bloom divine,
And proud expand truth's never-dying flower,
To lift fair constancy to seats sublime,
E'en 'bove myself, above the pow'rs of time,
Ah! then let mem'ry and the Muses know,
Thou lovely satyrist shouldst bless my reign;
My pow'rs alone could deathless charms bestow,
Which prov'd the fondness that inspir'd thy strain;
Since but for those white omens of my sway,
The world had wanted Daphne's faithful lay.