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All hail! rosy borvers, beneath whose soft shacke
The passion I felt for my swain was betray’d;
Dear spot! where I first had occasion to prove
A match how unequal was prudence and love.
My hand when he touch'd, like the electrical flame,
The charm, swift as thought, shot and kindled my frame,
With a kiss yet I thought it no danger to part;
So distant I fancied my lips from my heart.
But th' effect of the magic my eyes soon confest,
And, more than my tongue could, my blushes exprest.
Ye traitors ! ah ! why to the youth make it known,
That each outline was gain’d, and the fortress his own.
Ye trees ! did ye not with the zephyrs conspire,
To hide my confusion, and fan the soft fire?
I saw each fond branch with its neighbour entwine,
And leaf press to leaf, with an ardour like mine.
With sweet hymencals the birds fill'd the grove,
In each look and each sound there was nothing but
From nature thus rapt the infection was caught,
And I only practis'd the lesson she taught.
ON THE MARRIAGE OF COL, ELLIOT AND MISS
Strike! loudly strike the lyric string,
To bridal Love devote the song;
Let every Muse a garland bring,
And joy the festive note prolong.
To beauteous Lettsom *, young as fair,
Soft as her manners pour the warbled lay ;
A nobler, bolder strain prepare,
To hail brave ELLIOT on his nuptial day!
Mirth! airy child of young Delight,
And Fancy, eldest born of Jove,
Haste at the Syren call of Love;
And now, while Health and Youth unite,
And Nature wears her loveliest sinile,
With dance and song the hours beguile:
To BEAUTY in its loveliest prime,
TO WORTH in radiant armour bright,
That burns in Britain's cause to fight, Swell the loud symphonies sublime! In Camberwell's delightful Grove proclaim That Love and Valour blend their spotless flame. Ye blooming Nymphs and happy Swains
Haste to yon bower where Pleasure reigns, * Of Grove-hill, Camberwell. + Colonel of the Westminster Volunteer Cavalry,
And while, with measur'd steps, ye move
Through the green mazes of the grove,
With laurels bind the Bridegroom's brow,
Eternal as the nuptial vow;
And wreaths of sweetest flowers prepare
For lov'd Eliza's auburn hair.
Let odours, from Arabian vales,
Breathe gently on the balmy gales,
And not a sound in Æther float,
Save the soft Dove's enamour'd note,
Till the bright star of Evening rise
Auspicious to the Lover's sighs ;
And Cynthia, with her paler fire,
Warn lingering Beauty to retire.
Oh! ever may the circling hours
New blessings on their pinions bring;
Health that no cankering care devours, And Pleasure that shall leave no sting! May yonder Sun, as o'er this nether sphere
He rolls his chariot of æthereal gold,
Beneath his orb no happier pair behold, But, ceaseless, as he runs his bright career, View rolling years their stedfast faith improve, And CHILDREN'S CHILDREN crown their virtuous
FROM THE FRENCH.
Damis, an author cold and weak,
ODE TO MISS SARAH FOWLER.
Toutesfois vous demeurant en ce lieu, mes tenebreuses et tristes parolles n'en pourroient chasser les Graces, desquels vous me semblez estre l'unique simulacbre, et moins les Muses qui vous recognoissent pour leur Minerve.
When first Aurora's gorgeous car
Springs from night's dreary vault releas'd,
And beauty's consecrated star,
Retires behind the blashing east,
Can Titian's orient beams dispense
A more propitious influence
To animate th' exulting earth,
Than sheds bright Fancy o'er the mind,
When; from Care's grosser dregs refin’d,
It gives the fruits of genius birth.
Not in the solitary gloom,
By the dim taper's sickly ray,
Sunk in the rust of Greece and Rome
Does Genius point the doubtful way,
While in abstracted thought the Sage
Revolves the stern Socratic page;
Or by the tedious rules of art
In melancholy search pursues,
Yet finds the gay, the bashful Muse
Unseen and unattain's depart.
Where Poesy erects her seat,
The myrtle's fragrant branches twine.
Beneath the Pleasures' nimble feet
Upstarts the new-born columbine.
Methinks I see the jocund band
Of Loves and Graces hand in hand
Their artless symphony inspire;
The Muses catch the dulcet sound,
They waft ihe sportive echoes round,
And wake the sympathetic lyre.
The rose's aromatic bloom
Adorns their wild fantastic grove,
And o'er the violet's perfume
Angelic forms delighted rove;
Fair Sappho in Elysian bowers
Beguiles the gently stealing hours,
And sooths entranc'd Despair to rest,
Her strains so feelingly express
The force of elegant distress,
Implanted in a female breast,
Carelessly tripping o'er the green
The sprightly Deshoulieres appears
With winning air and brow serene,
Unclouded by the frown of years;
Around the Nymph in graceful state,
A thousand smiling Cupids wait,
And each performs his destin'd part;
Some give the cheeks a livelier glow,
Some tune the lyre, some twang the bow,
To pierce the most obdurate heart.