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THE rofe had been wafh'd, juft wafh'd in a fhower,
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower,
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
To for the buds it had left with regret, weep
On the flourishing bufh where it grew.
I hastily feiz'd it, unfit as it was,
For a nofegay, fo dripping and drown'd,
And fuch, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
This elegant rofe, had I fhaken it lefs,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while, And the tear that is wip'd with a little addrefs, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS THROCKMORTON.
MARIA! I have ev'ry good
For thee wish'd many a time, Both fad, and in a cheerful mood, But never yet in rhime,
To wish thee fairer is no need,
What favour, then, not yet poffefs'd,
In wedded love already blest,
To thy whole heart's defire?
None here is happy but in part;
There dwells fome wish in ev'ry heart,
That wish, an fome fair future day,
('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST dried in the sun.
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong fide leaning,
Ah why, fince oceans, rivers, ftreams,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now,
Impell'd through regions denfe and rare,
Ordain'd, perhaps, ere fummer flies,
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON.
SHE came-she is gone-we have met➡
And feems to have risʼn in vain.
The last evening ramble we made,
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paus'd under many a tree,
And much fhe was charm'd with a tone,
Lefs fweet to Maria and me,
Who had witness'd fo lately her own.
My numbers that day fhe had fung,
Could infufe into numbers of mine.