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LOVE ELEGY.

WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy ?
Monimia, give my soul its wonted rest ;—
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart knawing cares corrode my pensive breast.

Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour:
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,

Or press her wanton in love's roseate bower.

For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled heath Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around; Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade,

To hear the music of the grove resound.

I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall,

Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue, Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall,

And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew :

There leagu'd with hopeless anguish and despair,
Awhile in silence o'er my fate repine;
Then with a long farewell to love and care,
To kindred dust my weary limbs resign.

Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear

On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? Wilt thou strew flow'rs, applaud my love sincere, And bid the turf lie lightly on my breast?

Smollet.

The author of a poem called "The Recantation" had seen the above Elegy; the similarity of the last stanza of both poems is too striking to doubt this conclusion. See vol. I.

RONDEAU.

By two black eyes my heart was won,

Sure never wretch was more undone !
To Celia with my suit I came,

But she, regardless of her prize,
Thought proper to reward my flame
With two black eyes!

Anonymous.

THE NUN.

AN ELEGY.

WITH each perfection dawning on her mind,
All beauty's treasure op'ning on her cheek,
Each flatt'ring hope subdued, each wish resign'd,
Does gay Ophelia this lone mansion seek?

Say, gentle maid, what prompts thee to forsake
The paths, thy birth and fortune strew with flow'rs?
Through nature's kind endearing ties to break,
And waste in cloister'd walls thy pensive hours?

Let sober thought restrain thy erring zeal,
That guides thy footsteps to the vestal gate,
Lest thy soft heart (this friendship bids reveal)
Like mine unblest, should mourn like mine too late.

Does some angelic lonely-whisp'ring voice,
Some sacred impulse, or some dream divine,
Approve the dictates of thy early choice?—
Approach with confidence the awful shrine.

There kneeling at yon altar's marble base
(While streams of rapture from thine eye-lids steal,
And smiling heav'n illumes thy soul with grace)
Pronounce the vow, thou never canst repeal.

Yet if misled by false entitled friends,
Who say-"That Peace, with all her comely train,
From starry regions to this clime descends,
Smooths ev'ry frown, and softens ev'ry pain:

"That vestals tread contentment's flow'ry lawn,
Approv'd of innocence, by health carest:
That rob'd in colours bright, by fancy drawn,
Celestial hope sits smiling at their breast."

Suspect their syren song, and artful style,
Their pleasing sounds some treach'rous thoughts conceal!
Full oft does pride with sainted voice beguile,
And sordid int'rest wear the mask of zeal.

A tyrant-abbess here perchance may reign,
Who, fond of power, affects the imperial nod,
Looks down disdainful on her female train,
And rules the cloister with an iron rod.

Reflection sickens at the life-long tie,
Back-glancing mem❜ry acts her busy part,
Its charms the world unfolds to fancy's eye,
And sheds allurement on the wishful heart.

Lo! Discord enters at the sacred porch,
Rage in her frown, and terror on her crest;
E'en at the hallow'd lamps she lights her torch,
And holds it flaming to each virgin breast.

But since the legends of monastic bliss
By fraud are fabled, and by youth believ'd,
Unbought experience learn from my distress,
Oh! mark my lot, and be no more deceiv'd.

Three lustres scarce with hasty wing were fled,
When I was torn from ev'ry weeping friend,
A thoughtless victim to the temple led,
And (blush ye parents) by a father's hand!

Yet then what solemn scenes deceiv'd my choice?
The pealing organ's animating sound,
The choral virgin's captivating voice,
The blazing altar, and the priests around.

The train of youths array'd in purest white,
Who scatter'd myrtles as I pass'd along;

The thousand lamps that pour'd a flood of light,
The kiss of peace from all the vestal throng.

The golden censers, toss'd with graceful hand,
Whose fragrant breath Arabian odours shed:
Of meek ey'd novices the circling band,

With blooming chaplets wove around their head.

-My willing soul was caught in rapture's flame, While sacred ardour glow'd in ev'ry vein : Methought applauding angels sung my name, And heav'ns unsullied glories gilt the fane.

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