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« Ah me!” she cry'd, “ how soon is past
Our happy, thoughtless, youthful hour! Our purest pleasures will not last,
But fade like this autumnal flow'r.
“ Where now are all the blooming joys,
That gilded those auspicious days : Where all the flattering, splendid toys,
Which then so high our hopes cou'd raise?
“ All, all are flown; and gloomy care
Now spreads o'er life her dusky wings; Each day is elouded with despair,
Each hour fresh cause of sorrow brings !"
True, my fair preacher, I exclaim’d,
Our youthful hopes were rais'd too high : At more exalted bliss we aim'd,
Than e'er was found beneath the sky.
Yet whilst my Lucia constant proves,
Thus condescends to sooth my care; Whilst she her swain thus fondly loves,
We'll bid defiance to despair.
I said, and to my lips I press'd
Her willing hand; my head, reclind,
Euphrosyne. ANSWER TO THE TRIPLE PLEA,
A common satirical Print
ON THE LAWYERS, PHYSICIANS, AND DIVINES.
Could all men live on herbs and roots,
Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold; Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.
For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
For thee descends the sunny show'r; The rills in softer murmurs flow,
And brighter blossoms gem the bow'r.
Light graces dress'd in flow'ry wreaths,
And tiptoe joys their hands combine; And love his sweet contagion breathes,
And laughing dances round thy shrine.
Warm with new life, the glitt'ring throngs,
On quiv’ring fin and rustling wing,
Loves of the Plants. SONNET TO EVENING.
Evening, as slow thy placid shades descend,
Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still,
The lonely batilement, and farthest hill,
Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led,
Unseen ; and mark the tints that o'er thy bed Hang lovely, oft to musing fancy's eye
Presenting fairy vales, where the tir’d mind
Might rest, beyond the murmurs of mankind, Nor hear the hourly moans of misery. Ah, beauteous views! that hope's fair gleams the while Shou'd smile like you and perish as they smile.
While bees sip nectar from the rose,
Beneath the woodbine shade;
By nature fragrant made.
The myrtle s never fading green,
My lasting truth shall prove:
the source from whence it flows, And paints my spotisss love.
Sleep on, lov'd youth, while I prepare
In nature's lovely band :
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
OH! I am caught in Cupid's snare,
Such charms might any heart surprise; The playful step, the artless air,
The lustre of her thrilling eyes.
The curling locks of chesnut brown,
That wave upon a neck of snow; The brow unruffled with a frown,
The cheek, where living roses blow.