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And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile,
And the tear that is wip'd with a little address May be foliow'd perhaps by a smile.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS. THROCKMORTON.
Maria I I have ev'ry good
For thee wish'd 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 posTess'd,
Can I for thee require, In wedded love already blest, , To thy whole heart's desire?
None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;
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 fulfill'd.
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST Dry'd 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 air the nations,
In constant exhalations,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stol'n away
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now, Impell'd thro' regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.
Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combin'd with millions more, To form an iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the-happiest lot,
So soon to be forgot!
Phœbus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left- may shine
With equal grace below.
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPI.ETON.
She came—she is gone—we have met—
And meet perhaps never again; The fun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream—
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening-ramble we made,
.Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbling nigh.