To the memory of Susan MacDonald, eldest daughter of the

Right Honourable Sir Archibald MacDonald, Lord Chief

Baron of England, and the Right Honourable Lady Louisa

MacDonald; who died at Lisbon, where she went for the

recovery of her health, March 1803, in the 22d year of her age

Prologue

If Couzens from his blots could form

A landscape, cataract, or storm,

Why may not we, with equal ease,

Make forms to think just as we please?

Amongst the common sons of earth,

The passion gives the action birth;

But we, reversing Nature's laws,

Make the effect precede the cause.

Cupid's holiday (January 25, 1797)

“Bring my new car and swiftest doves,”

Cry'd Cupid to the laughing Loves

That flutter'd round his throne.

Eager his mandate to obey,

A thousand pinions flit away.

When his commands are known.

“Here! take my quiver and my bow—

“I shall not need them, now, below:”

Then mounts his equipage;

While Zephyr seem'd to lag behind,

As if he felt not much inclin'd

The peril to engage.

Quoth he, “What whimsy have we here,

“To travel at this time of year,

“And visit folks below?

“When not a leaf is to be seen,

“Except some prim old evergreen

“Just peeping thro’ the snow.

“No roses scent the chilly air;

“No blushing pink, or lily fair:

“And, for your hot-house plants,

“Supposing one could gain admission,

“‘Tis only fit for a physician

“To seek their sickly haunts.

“Dear Master, let us wait awhile,

“Till Nature shall begin to smile,

“And her full chorus sings.

“My boist'rous brothers are abroad:

“If we should meet them on the road,

“They'll tear my silken wings.”

“Peace! fool,” cry'd Cupid: “haste away:

“I'm going to keep Holiday…