Found his head fill'd with many a system:
But claffic authors, he ne'er miss'd'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parfon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen
Good pinners edg'd with colberteen;
Her petticoat, transform'd a-pace,
Became black fattin flounc'd with lace.
Plain goody would no longer down;
'Twas madam, in her grogram gown.
Philemon was in great furprize,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look so prim;
And the admir'd as much at him.
Thus happy in their change of life
Were sev'ral years this man and wife;
When on a day which prov'd their last,
Difcoursing o'er old stories past,
They went by chance amidst their talk
To the church-yard to take a walk;
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,
My dear, I fee your forehead sprout!
Sprout! quoth the man; what's this you tell us?
I hope you don't believe me jealous :
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding too-
Nay,-now I cannot ftir my foot;
It feels as if 'twere taking root.
Description would but tire my muse;
In short, they both were turn'd to yews.
Old goodman Dobson of the green;
Remembers he the trees has seen;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to shew the fight;
On Sundays, after ev'ning pray'r,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:
Till once a parfon of our town
To mend his barn cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubby, dy'd a-top, was stunted;
So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.
The Story of TERIBAZUS and ARIANA.
MID the van of Persia was a youth
Nam'd Teribazus, not for golden stores,
Nor for wide pastures, travers'd o'er with herds,
With bleating thousands, or with bounding steeds,
Nor yet for pow'r, nor splendid honours fam'd.
Rich was his mind in ev'ry art divine,
And through the paths of science had he walk'd
The votary of wisdom. In the years,
When tender down invests the ruddy cheek,
He with the Magi turn'd the hallow'd page
Of Zoroastres; then his tow'ring foul
High on the plumes of contemplation foar'd,
And from the lofty Babylonian fane
With learn'd Chaldæans trac'd the mystic sphere;
There number'd o'er the vivid fires, that gleam
Upon the dusky bosom of the night.
Nor on the fands of Ganges were unheard
The Indian sages from sequester'd bow'rs,
While, as attention wonder'd, they disclos'd
The pow'rs of nature; whether in the woods,
The fruitful glebe, or flow'r, or healing plant,
The limpid waters, or the ambient air,
Or in the purer element of fire.
The fertile plains, where great Sesostris reign'd,
Mysterious Ægypt, next the youth furvey'd
From Elephantis, where impetuous Nile
Precipitates his waters, to the sea,
Which far below receives the sev'nfold stream.
Thence o'er th' Ionic coaft he stray'd, nor pass'd
Milétus by, which once inraptur'd heard
The tongue of Thales; nor Priene's walls,
Where wisdom dwelt with Bias; nor the feat
Of Pittacus along the Lesbian shore.
Here too melodious numbers charm'd his ear,
Which flow'd from Orpheus, and Mufæus old,
And thee, O father of immortal verse,
Mæonides, whose strains through ev'ry age
Time with his own eternal lip shall fing.
Back to his native Susa then he turn'd
His wandring steps. His merit soon was dear
To Hyperanthes generous and good.
And Ariana, from Darius sprung
With Hyperanthes, of th' imperial race,
Which rul'd th' extent of Afia, in disdain
Of all her greatneis oft an humble ear
To him would bend, and listen to his voice.
Her charms, her mind, her virtue he explor'd
Admiring. Soon was admiration chang'd
To love, nor lov'd he fooner, than despair'd.
But unreveal'd and filent was his pain;
Nor yet in folitary shades he roam'd,
Nor shun'd resort: but o'er his forrows caft
A fickly dawn of gladness, and in smiles
Conceal'd his anguish; while the secret flame
Rag'd in his bosom, and its peace confum'd:
His heart still brooding o'er these mournful thoughts.
Can I, O wisdom, seek relief from thee,
Who doft approve my paffion? From the pow'r
Of beauty only thou wouldst guard my heart.
But here thyself art charm'd, where softness, grace,
And ev'ry virtue dignify defire;
Yet thus to love dispairing is to prove
The sharpeft forrow, which relentless fate
Can from her store of woes inflict on life :
But doft not thou this moment warn my foul
To fly the fatal charmer? Do I pause ?
Back to the wife Chaldæans will I go,
Or wander on the Ganges; where to heav'n
With thee my elevated foul shall tow'r,
With thee the secrets of the earth unveil.
There no tumultuous passion shall moleft
My tranquil hours, and ev'ry thought be calm.
O wretched Teribazus! all confpires
Against thy peace. Our mighty lord prepares
To overwhelm the Grecians. Ev'ry youth
Attends the war, and I, who late have pois'd
With no inglorious arm the foldier's lance,
And near the fide of Hyperanthes fought,
Muft join the throng. How therefore can I fly
From Ariana! who with Afia's queens
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