Pomona:

( ON THE CYDER BILL BEING PASSED .)

From orchards of ample extent,
Pomona's compell'd to depart;
And thus, as in anguish she went,
The Goddess unburthen'd her heart: —

" To nourish where Liberty reigns,
Was all my fond wishes requir'd;
And here I agreed with the swains
To live till their freedom expir'd.

Of late you have number'd my trees,
And threaten'd to limit my store:
Alas — from such maxims as these,
I fear that your freedom's no more.

My flight will be fatal to May:
For how can her gardens be fine?
The blossoms are doom'd to decay,
The blossoms, I mean, that were mine.

Rich Autumn remembers me well:
My fruitage was fair to behold!
My pears — how I ripen'd their swell!
My pippins! — were pippins of gold!

Let Ceres drudge on with her ploughs!
She droops as she furrows the soil;
A nectar I shake from my boughs,
A nectar that softens my toil.

When Bacchus began to repine,
With patience I bore his abuse;
He said that I plunder'd the vine,
He said that I pilfer'd his juice.

I know the proud drunkard denies
That trees of my culture should grow:
But let not the traitor advise;
He comes from the climes of your foe.

Alas! in your silence I read
The sentence I'm doom'd to deplore:
'Tis plain the great Pan has decreed,
My orchard shall flourish no more. "

The Goddess flew off in despair;
As all her sweet honours declin'd:
And Pienty and Pleasure declare,
They'll loiter no longer behind.