ONE SONG. day the god of fond desire, On mischief bent, to Damon said, The shepherd mark'd his treacherous art, "Tis true you have subdued my heart, But shall not triumph o'er my pride. The slave in private only bears Your bondage, who his love conceals; But when his passion he declares, You drag him at your chariot-wheels. SONG. HARD is the fate of him who loves, Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, But to the sympathetic groves, But to the lonely listening plain. Oh! when she blesses next your shade, VOL. 1. In fresher mazes o'er the T green, Ye gentle spirits of the vale, To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale, And sigh my sorrows in her ear. Oh tell her what she cannot blame, Though fear my tongue must ever bind; Oh tell her that my virtuous flame Not her own guardian angel eyes Not But if, at first, her virgin fear Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship sooth her ear—True love and friendship are the same. UNLESS with SONG. NLESS with my Amanda blest, In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast, In vain I rear the breathing flower. Awaken'd by the genial year, In vain the birds around me sing; In vain the freshening fields appear: Without my love there is no spring. FOR SONG. ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to love, And when we meet a mutual heart, Bid us sigh on from day to day, But busy busy still art thou, For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer, All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. SONG. COME, gentle god of soft desire, Come and possess my happy breast, Not Fury-like in flames and fire, Or frantic Folly's wildness drest; But come in Friendship's angel-guise: Yet dearer thou than friendship art, More tender spirit in thy eyes, More sweet emotions at the heart. O come with goodness in thy train, With peace and pleasure void of storm, ODE. NIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove, O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale, to me! 'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate: You, happy birds! by Nature's simple laws And love and song is all your pleasing care : But we, vain slaves of int'rest and of pride, Dare not be blest, lest envious tongues should blame: And hence in vain I languish for my bride; O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame. TO SERAPHINA. THE wanton's charms, however bright, Are like the false illusive light, But that sweet ray your beauties dart, Which clears the mind, and cleans the heart, Is like the sacred queen of night, Who pours a lovely gentle light Wide o'er the dark, by wanderers blest, A vicious love depraves the mind, And heaven infus'd into the mind. |