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"Here's rubbish enough,till my homeward return, , O! mild as the Zephyr, like Zephyr that throws For children to gather, old women to burn;

Its sweets on the sweet-breathing May; Not practis'd to labour, my sides are too sore,

But not on the lap of cold winter bestows, Till another fit season, to shake you down more.

What winter will never repay. What future materials for pruning, and cropping, So turn thee from folly's cold aspect, ah! turn And cleaning, and gleaning, and lopping, and From vice's hard bosom away; topping!

[tree, The wise and the virtuous thy sweets will return, Yet mistake me not, rabble! this tree's a good

As warm and as grateful as May.
Does honour, dame Nature, to Britain and thee;
And the fruit on the top,--takeits merits in brief,
Makes a poble dessert, where the dinner's roast-
beef !”


observes no other rules

Than those the coterie prize;

She thinks, whilst lords continue fools,
Yes; wedlock's sweet bands were too blest, in

'Tis vulgar to be wise: her lover

Thinks rudeness wit in noble dames,
If virtue her likeness could find,

Adultery, love polite;
What Plato' has fabled, could Julia recover That ducal stars shoot brighter flaines
Her lost other half, from mankind.

Than all the host of light.
What joy to receive all the good you impart, Yet sages own that greatness throws
Thy cares on another recline,

A grace on Spencer's charms;
Apother's fond bosom, and feel that his heart On Hagley's verse, on Stanhope's prose,
Beats all the same measures with thine !

And gilded Marlborough's arms.
The features, the virtues of both, in your race, For titles here their rev'rence ends,
How sweet the confusion, enjoy!

In general wisdom thinks
Yet more of thyself in the daughter still trace, The higher grandeur's scale ascends,
And more of thy lord iu the boy..

The lower Nature's sinks.
Such bliss rivals Heaven-yet what grief, what

disgrace, Were riot's low follower thy lot, [chase,

ON AN ASIATIC LADY. - Were he whose loud pleasures are wine and the you who sail on India's wealthy wave, All love's silent pleasures forgot!

Of gems and gold who spoil the radiant east; What misery to hear, without daring reply,

What oceans, say, what isles of fragrance gave All folly, all insolence speaks ;

This fairer treasure to the joyful west? Still calling the tear of reproach to thy eye,

What banks of Ganges, and what balmy skies The push of disdain to thy cheeks!

Saw the first infant dawn of those unclouded eyes? Would soft macaronies have judgment to prize,

By easy arts while Europe's beauties reign, Whom arts and whom virtues adorn,

Roll the blue languish of their humid eye; Who learnt every virtue and art to despise,

Rule willing slaves, who court and kiss the chain, Where Catos and Scipios were born?

Self-vanquish'd, helpless to resist or fly; Would wealth's drowsy heir, without spark of Less yielding souls confess this eastern fair, Heaven's fire,

And lightning melts the heart that milder fires Enshrin'd in his dulness completely, Awake to the charmer, her voice and her lyre,

Of gods, enamour'd with a mortal dame,
Ah! charm they though ever so sweetly? Let Grecian story tell—the gifts display
But what with the gamester, ab! what were thy That deck'd Cassandra, and each honoured name

What fortune's caprices thy share ! [fate, Lov'd by the god, who guides the golden day:
To sleep upon down under canopied state, See! Asia triumphs in a brighter scene;
To wake on the straw of despair!

A nobler Phæbus woos ber summer's smiling The timid free-thinker, that only defies

queen. Those bolts which bis Maker can throw;

Sublimer sense, and sprightlier wit to please, Would he, when blaspheming the Lord of the That Phoebus gave; he gave the voice and lyre, skies,

That warble sweeter than the spicy breeze, Yet rev’rence his image below?

He gave what charms meridian suns inspire ; Would slaves to a court, or to faction's banditti,

What precious rays from light's pure fountain Thy temperate spirits approve;

stream, So proud in their chains of the court and the city, What warm the diamond’s blaze and ruby's flam. Disdaining no chains, but of love?

ing beam. Plato's fable is, that man and woman originally were one being, divided afterwards by Jupiter for their punishment; that each part, in perpetual search of the other, never recovers happiness till their reunion.

would spare.



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Au envious robe! to frustrate Heaven's intent, Ah! Dorimant, victim to love,
Concealing beauty from the eye of day;

Too fatally caught in his wiles,
Beauty to man by gracious Nature sent

Can you in fair Laura approve To cheer the wand'rer on his lonesome way. Those diffusive, those general smiles ? One pow'r who wak'd Aurora's smiling light If inconstancy dwells with that fire Gave skies thcir azure, and gave vales their Which the Sun-beams of Asia impart green,

Can a daughter of Europe desire Form'd the quick sense for wonder and delight, To change with your Laura a heart? Made eyes to see, and Laura to be seen.

No!--happier the temp'rate mind, Curs'd be th' eclipse that plunges morn in night, Which, fix'd to one ohject alone,

And jealous clouds that shade the landscape's To one tevder passion confin'd, On envious robes severer curses light, (scene; Breathes no wishes, no sighs, but for one. That veil the beanties of my summer's queen!

Such bliss has the maid of the plain, Ah Laura! cruel Laura ! why constrain,

Tho' secluded she lives in a cot; In art's fantastic drapery, Nature's ease? Yet, rich in the love of her swain, Why, form’d to empire, empire's arts disdain ? She's contented, and blesses her lot.

why, born for pleasure, still refuse to please ? Ah! say, if deserving thy heart, Nor yet these folds on fulds, this load of dress, The too undistinguishing fair, Shall bar approaches to poetic love;

Who to thousands can raptures impart, No-where the graces sport in sweet recess, And the raptures of thousands can share ! 'Tis fancy, bold intruder's joy to rove.

Ah! say, does she merit those lays? Fancy, pursuing where my Laura flies,

Those lays which true passion define? With wanton gales furbidden charms reveals, No-unworthy the fair of thy praise, Betrays her slumbers, and with eager eyes

Who can listen to any but thine,
The panting breast, derouring, dreams it feels.
Fancy indulgent to her votary's prayer,

Shows where, sequester'd from the sultry beam, REPLY TO MISS G-
The limp: wave but ill conceal'd the fair,
With virgins sporting in her Ganges' stream.

Sappho, while your Muse of fire,

Listening to the vocal spheres,
Sits and tempers to her lyre

Airs divine for mortal ears:

Viewing higher orbs that glow,
Au Laura ! wbile graces and songs,

Ever constant, ever true,

Still she dreams to find below
While smiles, winning smiles you impart;
Indulgence but nurses desire,

Perfect forms, as Heaven and you,
I sigh for that treasure, your heart.

Blame not Asia's fair, who glances

Random smiles in heedless ease,
Yes, take, too presumptuous, she cries,
All that virtue can wish to receive;

Shifts at will ber wayward fancies.
Yes, take all ibat virtue can grant,

Pleasing all, whom all can please; A heart I had never to give.

Blame her not--no envied treasure
The maid of the north, like the lake,

Is the tender, feeling heart,
That sleeps by her peaceable cot,

Bosoms quick to keener pleasure
Too languishing lives but for one,

Beat alas ! as quick to smart. Forgetting the world, and forgot.

Who with eyes that ever langnish, Bit born where my Ganges expands,

Still to deserts sighs alone? To no partial channels contin'd,

Who consumes her youth in anguish Unfix'd to no object, I flow

-She who keeps an heart for one. With innocent smiles on mankind.

Tender lore repaid with treason, Our Asia's bright dames, like their sun,

Fortune's frowns, parental power, Cheer all with benevolent reign,

Blast her in the vernal season, Coy moons, Europe's daughters, but light

Bend her, unsupported flower. A single disconsolate swain,

Happier she, with pliant nature

Fleeting, fickle as the wind;
She, who proving one a traitor,

Turns to meet another kinda
Blame her notwith Asian rovers

What can Asia's fair pursue ?
What? but lessons taught by lovers,

Like the traitor, treacherous too.


303 Why should faith, obsequious doty,

Sooth an eastern tyrant's scorn? Who but rifies joyless beauty

TO MISS G Steals the honey, leaves the thorn,

Au leave, you cry, the harp unstrung, Sadness sits by Ganges' fountains ;

For fortune shifts her fickle wind: How can echo cheer the vale ?

Resume thy Igre, on willows hung, What repeat from fragrant mountains !

To sing the fair, no longer kind. What but grief and borrour's tale?

Nomnearer view my alter'd state, What but shrieks of wild despair?

For fear too higii, for hope too low; What but shouts that murder sleep?

Beneath the victor's joyful fate, There the struggling, fainting fair;

Yet far above the captive's woe. There-but see my Sappho weep!

The charms of sense no more beguile; Change the strain !—this mournful measure

On reason's lap I lay me down : Melts, oppresses virtuous hearts

If claiming now no beauties' smile, Sappho, wake thy lyre of pleasure !

Appears it just to meet their frown ? Sing of Europe's happier arts !

Light insects they, of gaudy lues, Sing of all the mingled blessing

Admire the glare of youthful day, Reason, tempering passion, knows;

Still bathe in mom's, not evening's dews, All the transport of possessing

From shades of autumn fleet away. Unpluck'd beauty's willing rose!

Behold their train of captains, beaux! Sing of that refin'd sensation

Disdain my breast, disdain to sigh! Mutual melting bosoms prove,

To these the fair, the rivals those, Sonls exchang'd, sweet emanation,

The son of Jove's be my reply: Separate being lost in love!

“ Ah why desert th’ Olympic games ? Rapture's tears, voluptuous stream!

Aspire to victory!" Philip cries : Langlior stealing sorrow's sighs !

I come,” young Ammon fierce exclaims, Sing of love-thyself the theme !

If kings my rivals, thrones the prize." Sing of love-thyself the prize!

Yes, letter'd maid ! my sonl approve,

The seat no more of vain desires :

Extinguish'd there the flanne of love,

Extinguish'd there ambition's fires !

ANG my lyre upon the willow,
Sign to winds thy notes forlorn;

To save from vice, from folly save,
Or, along the foamy billow

What aid can beauty, pwwer asford ? Float the wrecking tempest's scorn.

Unworthy love to call thee slave,

Unworthy crowds to call thee lord !
Sprightly sounds no more it raises,
Such as Laura's smiles approve;

Pure reason, yes; purc truth—but why,
Laura scorns her poet's praises,

Ah why! rebellious heart declare, Calls his artless friendship love:

With flattering pulse and stifled sigh,

That other tenants harbour there?
Calls it love, that spurning duty,
Spurning Nature's chastest ties,

Go-tranquil Hope, by turns to dwell,
Mocks thy tears, dejected beauty,

Expelling reason pleasure's court, Sports with fallen virtue's sighs.

Expelling passion wisdom's cell:

Go-reason's, passion's mutual sport.
Call it love, no more profaning
Truth with dark suspicion's wound;

Vain dreamer!-rather both revere,
Or, my fair, the term retaining,

But neither's sole dominion own:
Change the sense, preserve the sound. When Heaven assign'd to each their sphere,

It never meant excluding one:
Yes, 'tis love that name is given,
Angels, to your purest flames:

Excluding which ?-objections wait
Such a love as merits Heaven,

On vain pretensions either forms; Heaven's divinest image claims

Alike to life's salubrious state

Ye both are fatal-calms and storms,

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Now he writes to the fair, with what fervour he | When you vary your charms with your patches,
Heaven's glory concert'd in her fame; (paints

To me 'tis a weightier affair,
How he raves upon grace, and the union of Than who writes the northern dispatches,

Idolatry, raptures, and flame? (saints Or sits in the president's chair.
Equivocal priest, lay solemnity by,

When, by nature and art form’d to please, Deceiver thyself, or deceir'd !

You sing, and you talk, and you laugh,
When you kneel to the idol of beauty, and sigh, Can I forfeit such raptures as these,
Are your ardours for Heaven believ'd ?

To dream of the chamberlain's staff?
Will the heart that is kindled from passions Secure under Brunswick and Heaven,
Ascend in pure spirit above ? (below

I trust the state vessel shall ride : Ah ! analyse better, as blended they glow

To Bute let the rudder be given, The fames of religiou and love.

Or Pitt be permitted to guide. Quit the teacher, my fair one, and listen to me,

At Almack's, when the turtle's well drest, A doctor less grave and severe !

Must I know the cook's country, or starre? Who eternity's joys for the virtuous can see

And when George gives us liberty's feast,
Consistent with happiness here.

Not taste 'uill Newcastle shall carve?
Still reverence, I preach, those endearing relations Yet think not that wildly I range,
Of daughter, of parent, of wife :

With no sober system in view;
Yet I blame not your relish for slighter seusations My notions are fix’d, though they change,
That sweeten the medicine of life.

Applied to Great Britain and you.
Know, the virtue it cherishes Heaven will reward, There, I reverence our bright constitution,
But attend to no blasphemous tales,

Not heeding what calurony rares,
That the blaze of the Deity shines unimpair'd,

Yet wish for a new revolution, Though human infirmity fails.

Should rulers treat subjects as slaves.
Know your God as he is, wise, good, beyond Here, the doctrine of boundless dominion,
No tyrant in horrours array'd, (measure,

Of boundless obedience is mine;
But a father, who smiles on the innocent pleasure Ah! my fair, to cure schism in opinion,
Of amiable creatures he made !

Confess non-resistance is thine,
Still please, and pursue his benevolent ends,

Still enrapture the heart and the ear!
I can swear for myself, and believe for my friends,

Our morals improve as we bear.
If the passions are waken'd by harmony's charm, Go rose—in gaudy gardens wilt thou bloom,

Their brcezes waft health to the mind, What our reason but labours, vain toil! to disarm, Far from the silent vale of peace and love? By virtue and song are retin'd.

On fluttering insects lavish waste perfume,

Or deck the fickle wreath that folly wove? Ah ! listen to me, in whose natural school Religion leads truth by the hand !

And yet the fragrance of thy evening hoar, Who regulates faith by a mystical rule,

Ambrosial odours, yet to me refuse? But builds his foundation on sand !

To me, who pay thy sweets, ungrateful flower !

With rich returus of incense from the Muse ? By the winds of unreconcil'd principles driven, Still fluctuates the methodist's plan;

Who but the Muse transplants thee, short-liv'd Now he wishes you chaste for the glory of Heaven,

From mortal regions to celestial seats ? (rose ! -Xos frail--for the pleasure of man.

By memory's fountain, where thy buds disclose

Eternal beauties, with eternal sweets.




From moments so precious to life,

All politics, Lauri, remove; Ruby lips must not animate strife,

But breathe the sweet language of love. What is party?-a zeal without science,

A bubble of popular fame, hu nature and viriue's detiance,

Tis reason cuslav'd to a name, » T is the language of madness, or fashion,

Where kuares only guess what they mean; 'Tis a cloak to conceal private passion,

To indulye, with applause, private spleen. Can I, placed by my Laura, inquire,

If poison or claret put out Our Churchill's satyrical fire,

If Wilkes lives with ears or without?

What! bid me seek another fair

In untry'd paths of female wiles ?
And posies weave of other hair,

And bask secure in other smiles ?
Thy friendly stars no longer prize,
And light my course by other eyes?
Ah no! my dying lips shall close,

Unalter'd love, as faith professing ;
Nor praising him who life bestows,

Forget who makes that gift a blessing,
My last address to Heav'o is due;
The last but one is all-to you.




Lost every function, ranish'd every sense : ON DEN BEING DEPRIVED, FROM CUSTOM AND

Is this thy lot, divine benevolence? DELICACY, OP ENJOYING SOCIAL FRIEND: Approach no more, such bitter anguish, near

So soft a bosom ; fow alone the tear,

That dew of Heaven, O maid ! to Heaven allied, IIad soft Aspasia's sex been man,

Thy great Redeemer shed for man and died. What friendship's holy chains

(lood arrgels mourn creation's glories lost, Ilad link'd our beings, fortune's plan,

And mourning please, resemble him the most ; Our pleasures and our pains ?

Flow then thy tear, ordain'd by Heaven's decree, Alike our ruder, milder sports,

For bliss to others, sweeter bliss to thee ! Our studies too the same,

With pity's pangs her dear sensations feel; Companions both in shades and courls,

The shaft that wounds thee, drops a balm to heal. In paths of love or fame.

Thy soul expanding, like a vernal Aower,

Shåll glow the brighter in afliction's shower By bright collision, patriot beams

For every tear to suff'ring virtue given,
Had dush'd froin soul to soul,

Itself approving, and approv'd by Heaven.
And war hal seen, in noion's streams,
Our tide of glory roll.

Weep theu, but weep another's fate alone ;

Let smiles be still attendant on thy own. There fate, that strikes the noblest breast,

Had surely reverenc'd thine ; The thirsty lance I then had blest

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. For only wounding mine. But ah! my sweeter downy hours,

How blest is he whom nature's gentle hand Had I been chang', not you ;

Has snatch'd from human life and human woes, What tranquil joys, if kinder powers

Evin in his childish days, ere yet he knew Had made me woman too!

Or sin, or pain, or youthful passion's force !

In earth's soft lap, beneath the flowery turf, Made each the other's softer care,

His peaceful ashes sleep; to Heaven ascends One table then had fed,

Th' unspotted soul, declar'd by voice divine One chamber lodgū the faithful pair,

A guest well pleasing--Then no longer mourn, Ah do not blush !-one bed.

Thou drooping parent, nor bewail him lost Both sitting at one busy loom

In life's first bloom, wben infant reason dawn'd, In nature's vernal bow'r,

And the young mind, unfolding every power, Had rivall’d nature's vernal bloom,

Gave promise fair of manhood, transport fill'd Creating both one flow'r.

The mother's bosom, pondering every word

And action there. She now lamenting loud Both screen'd from summer's sultry view, Deplores him, from her vain einbraces torn In shades by haunted stream,

By unrelenting fate, and fierce disease; Had own'd the moral vision true

Like eastern storms that blast the opening year.
That youthful poets dream.
Sweet wisdom, couch'd in mystic rhyme,

Yet bending o'er the brook,
Ha gathered morals more sublime

Froin great creation's book;

WRITTEN AT BRIGHTHELMSTON. And felt our mixing souls refine

Lovely N-m! rise, and see In purer wisdom's ray,

Modest mor resemble thee ! The being virtue's friend and thine

Ocean smiles with your repose, Had clear'd our mists away.

Come to seas, where Venus rose ! Jy morning incense, ev'ning pray'r,

Bathing, Dr. Pool observes, With thine, had soar'd above,

Braces all the optic nerves. With thine ascenrling sweeter there

“ Heavens,” she cries, “ what idle whim! On wings of song and love.

Youthful eyes are seldom dim ; Vain dreams! for custom's laws, combin'd

Mine can mark the distant sail, With virtue's stern decree,

Or lowing herds in Sussex' vale; Diside the beings nature join'd,

Scarce a spire or cottage smoke,
Divide my fair from me.

Or cloud embracing mountain oak ;
An object scarce of land or sea
Rises unperceiv'd by me.

True—but eyes that distant roam,

Frequent fail for scenes at home.

Let example make ine clearer, PAINTING AT THE NEWS OF, HER FRIEND'S MIS- Place yourself at Shergold's mirror!

Every mild reflected grace,

That angel form, that angel face,
Ay! maid too gentle, while thy tears deplore A world of wonders all can view,
The virtuous exile on a foreign shore,

Envy only blind and-you.
Thy pulse forgets to beat, thy cheek to glow,
Dim the bright eye, fix'd monument of woe,


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