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'Tis Providence alone secures
The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Though each resemble each in every part,
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT,
TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
MARIA! I have every good
For thee wished many a time, Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhime.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possessed
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire?
None here is happy but in part:
Fuil bliss is bliss divine; There dwells some wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild, ""Tis blameless, be it what it may) I wish it all fulfilled.
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INK GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That to the wrong side leaning Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning.
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?