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• Then 'tis their soul's delight and pride to reign “ O'er the fond slave, to give him ease or pain, And stretch and loose by turns the weighty viewless

chain.

Though much she knew, yet nothing could she prove; I had not yet confess’d the crime of love; · “ But in an hour when guardian-angels sleep, “ I fail'd the secret of my soul to keep ; And then I saw the triumph in those eyes That spokem Ay, now you are indeed my prize.' “ I almost thought I saw compassion, too, For all the cruel things she meant to do. “ Well I can call to mind the managed air That gave no comfort, that brought no despair, “ That in a dubious balance held the mind, “ To each side turning, never much inclined.

“ She spoke with kindness-thought the honour high, “ And knew not how to give a fit reply; “ She could not, would not, dared not, must not deem “ Such language proof of ought but my esteem; “ It made her proud-she never could forget “My partial thoughts,- she felt her inuch in debt:

“ She who had never in her life indulged “ The thought of hearing what I now divulged, " I who had seen so many and so much, “ It was an honour-she would deem it such : “ Our different years, indeed, would put an end “ To other views, but still her father's friend • To her, she humbly hoped, would his regard extend “ Thus saying nothing, all she meant to say, “ She play'd the part the sex delights to play; “ Now by some act of kindness giving scope To the new workings of excited hope, “ Then by an air of something like disdain, “ But scarcely seen, repelling it again ; “ Then for a season, neither cold nor kind, “ She kept a sort of balance in the mind, And as his pole a dancer on the rope, “ The equal poise on both sides kept me up.

" Is it not strange that man can fairly view
“ Pursuit like this, and yet his point pursue ?
“ While he the folly fairly will confess,
“ And even feel the danger of success?
“ But so it is, and nought the Circes care
“ How ill their victims with their poison fare,

“ When thus they trifle, and with quiet soul
“ Mix their ingredients in the maddening bowl.
“ Their high regard, the softness of their air,
The pitying grief that saddens at a prayer,
“ Their grave petitions for the peace of mind
“ That they determine you

shall never find, 6. And all their vain amazement that a man “ Like you should love-they wonder how you can.

For months the idler play'd her wicked part,
Then fairly gave the secret of her heart.
“She hoped'- I now the smiling gipsy view
"Her father's friend would be her lover's too,

Young Henry Gale'-But why delay so long? « She could not tell—she fear'd it might be wrong, « « But I was good'-I knew not, I was weak, “ And spoke as love directed me to speak.

“ When in my arms their boy and girl I take, " I feel a fondness for the mother's sake; “ But though the dears some softening thoughts excite “ I have no wishes for the father's right.

“ Now all is quiet, and the mind sustains “ Its proper comforts, its befitting pains ;

“ The heart reposes; it has had its share “ Of love, as much as it could fairly bear, « And what is left in life, that now demands its care?

" For O! my friends, if this were all indeed, “ Could we believe that nothing would succeed; “ If all were but this daily dose of life, “ Without a care or comfort, child or wife; “ These walks for health with nothing more in view, “ This doing nothing, and with labour too; “ This frequent asking when 'tis time to dine, “ This daily dozing o'er the news and wine; “ This age's riddle, when each day appears “ So very long, so very short the years; • If this were all—but let me not supposeor What then were life! whose virtues, trials, woes, “ Would sleep th' eternal sleep, and there the scene

would close.

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“ This cannot be—but why has Time a pace That seems unequal in our mortal race?

Quick is that pace in early life, but slow, - Tedious and heavy, as we

older

grow; “ But yet, though slow, the movements are alike, “ And with no force upon the memory strike,

“ And therefore tedious as we find them all,

They leave us nothing we in view recal; “ But days that we so dull and heavy knew “ Are now as moments passing in review, « And hence arises ancient men's report, “ That days are tedious, and yet years are short."

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