With this, and a little of love to madden us,
Show me the fool that can labour for more!
Come, then, bid Ganymede fill ev'ry bowl for you,
Fill them up brimmers, and drink as I call:
I'm going to toast every nymph of my soul for you,
Ay, on my soul, I'm in love with them all!

Dear creatures! we can't live without them, They're all that is sweet and seducing to man! Looking, sighing about and about them,

We dote on them, die for them, all that we can.

Here's Phillis!-whose innocent bosom

Is always agog for some novel desires; To-day to get lovers, to-morrow to lose 'em, Is all that the innocent Phillis requires.Here's to the gay little Jessy!-who simpers So vastly good-humour'd whatever is done; She'll kiss you, and that without whining or whimpers, And do what you please with you-all out of fun! Dear creatures, etc.

A bumper to Fanny!-I know you will scorn her,
Because she's a prude, and her nose is so curl'd;
But if ever you chatted with Fan in a corner,

You'd she's the best little girl in the world!say Another to Lyddy!-still struggling with duty,

And asking her conscience still, whether she should; While her eyes, in the silent confession of beauty, Say, Only for something I certainly would! Dear creatures, etc.

Fill for Chloe!-bewitchingly simple,

Who angles the heart without knowing her lure; Still wounding around with a blush or a dimple,

Nor seeming to feel that she also could cure!— Here's pious Susan!- the saint, who alone, sir, Could ever have made me religious outright: For had I such a dear little saint of my own, sir, I'd pray on my knees to her half the long night! Dear creatures, etc.

COME tell me where the aid is found
Whose heart can love without deceit,
And I will range the world around,
To sigh one moment at her feet.

Oh! tell me where's her sainted home, What air receives her blessed sigh;

A pilgrimage of years I'll roam

To catch one sparkle of her eye!

And, if her cheek be rosy bright,
While truth within her bosom lies,
I'll gaze upon her, morn and night,
Till my heart leave me through my eyes!

Show me on earth a thing so rare,
I'll own all miracles are true;
To make one maid sincere and fair,
Oh! 'tis the utmost Heaven can do!

SONG. 1

SWEETEST love! I'll not forget thee, Time shall only teach my heart, Fonder, warmer, to regret thee, Lovely, gentle as thou art! Farewell, Bessy!

Yet, oh! yet again we 'll meet, love,
And repose our hearts at last:
Oh! sure 't will then be sweet, love,
Calm to think on sorrows past.—

Farewell, Bessy!

Yes, my girl, the distant blessing
May n't be always sought in vain;
And the moment of possessing-
Will't not, love, repay our pain?—
Farewell, Bessy!

Still I feel my heart is breaking,

When I think I stray from thee, Round the world that quiet seeking, Which I fear is not for me!Farewell, Bessy!

Calm to peace thy lover's bosom-
Can it, dearest! must it be?
Thou within an hour shalt lose him,
He for ever loses thee!
Farewell, Bessy!

SONG.

IF I swear by that eye, you'll allow
Its look is so shifting and new,
That the oath I might take on it now
The very next glance would undo!

Those babies that nestle so sly

Such different arrows have got,
That an oath, on the glance of an eye
Such as yours, may be off in a shot!

Should I swear by the dew on your lip,
Though each moment the treasure renews,
If my constancy wishes to trip,

I may kiss off the oath when I chuse!

Or a sigh nay disperse from that flower
The dew and the oath that are there!
And I'd make a new vow ev'ry hour,
To lose them so sweetly in air!

But clear up that heaven of your brow,
Nor fancy my faith is a feather;
On my heart I will pledge you my vow,
And they both must be broken together!

JULIA'S KISS.

WHEN infant Bliss in roses slept,

Cupid upon his slumber crept;

All these songs were adapted to airs which Mr Little composed, and sometimes sang, for his friends: this may account for the peculiarity of metre observable in many of them.-E.

255

And, while a balmy sigh he stole,
Exhaling from the infant's soul
He smiling said, With this, with this
I'll scent my Julia's burning kiss!»

Nay, more; he stole to Venus' bed,
Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled,
Which Love's divinest, dearest flame
Had kindled through her panting frame.
Her soul still dwelt on memory's themes,
Still floated in voluptuous dreams;
And every joy she felt before

In slumber now was acting o'er,

From her ripe lips, which seem'd to thrill
As in the war of kisses still,

And amorous to each other clung,
He stole the dew that trembling hung,
And smiling said, With this, with this
I'll bathe my Julia's burning kiss.»

No, no! that heart is only mine,

By ties all other ties above,

For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love!

SONG.

FLY from the world, O Bessy! to me,

Thou 'It never find any sincerer;
I'll give up the world, O Bessy! for thee,
I can never meet any that's dearer!
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,
That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny
That ours is the sweetest of any?

When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet,
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-

Ilave we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet?-
No, rather 't was Heaven that did it!

So innocent, love! is the pleasure we sip,
So little of guilt is there in it,

That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip,
And I'd kiss them away in a minute!

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed,
From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed,
As e'er on the couch of the wisest!

And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,
And thou, pretty innocent! fearest,
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven,
'Tis only our lullaby, dearest!

And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my
Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,
And Death be disarm'd of his terrors!
And each to the other embracing will say,

Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven!»
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,
And a kiss be our passport to Heaven!

SONG.

THINK on that look of humid ray,
Which for a moment mix'd with mine,
And for that moment seem'd to say,
. I dare not, or I would be thine!

Think, think on every smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm and move;
And then forgive my bosom's trance,

And tell me 't is not sin to love!

Oh! not to love thee were the sin;

For sure, if Heaven's decrees be done, Thou, thou art destined still to win, As I was destined to be won!

SONG.

A CAPTIVE thus to thee, my girl,
How sweetly shall I pass my age,
I
Contented, like the playful squirrel,
To wanton up and down my cage.

love!

When Death shall envy joy like this,

And come to shade our sunny weather,

Be our last sigh the sigh of bliss,
And both our souls exhaled together!

THE CATALOGUE.

COME, tell me, says Rosa, as, kissing and kiss'd, One day she reclined on my breast; Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list Of the nymphs you have loved and caress'd.. Oh, Rosa! 't was only my fancy that roved, My heart at the moment was free;

But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved! And the number shall finish with thee!

My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild

She taught me the way to be blest;

She taught me to love her, I loved like a child,
But Kitty could fancy the rest.
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore

I have never forgot, I allow;

I have had it by rote very often before,
But never by heart until now!

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame,
But my head was so full of romance,
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame,
And I was her knight of the lance!
But Martha was not of this fanciful school,

And she laugh'd at her poor little knight;
While I thought her a goddess, she thought me a fool,
And I'll swear she was most in the right.

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks,
Again I was tempted to rove;

But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books,
That she gave me more logic than love!
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly
To those sweeter logicians in bliss,
Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye,
And convince us at once with a kiss!

Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me,
But Susan was piously given;

And the worst of it was, we could never agree
On the road that was shortest to heaven!
Oh, Susan! I've said, in the moments of mirth,
What's devotion to thee or to me?

I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth,
And believe that that heaven's in thee !»

How oft I've languish'd by thy side,

And while my heart's luxuriant tide
Ran in wild riot through my veins,

I've waked such sweetly-maddening strains,
As if by inspiration's fire

My soul was blended with my lyre!
Oh! while in every fainting note
We heard the soul of passion float;
While in thy blue dissolving glance,
I've raptured read thy bosom's trance,
I've sung and trembled, kiss'd and sung;
Till, as we mingle breath with breath,
Thy burning kisses parch my tongue,
My hands drop listless on the lyre,
And, murmuring like a swan in death,
Upon thy bosom I expire!

Yes, I indeed remember well

Those hours of pleasure past and o'er;
Why have I lived their sweets to tell?
To tell, but never feel them more!
I should have died, have sweetly died,
In one of those impassion'd dreams,
When languid, silent on thy breast,
Drinking thine eyes' delicious beams,
My soul has flutter'd from its nest,
And on thy lip just parting sigh'd!
Oh! dying thus a death of love,
To heaven how dearly should I go!
He well might hope for joys above,
Who had begun them here below!

SONG.

WHERE is the nymph, whose azure eye Can shine through rapture's tear? The sun has sunk, the moon is high, And yet she comes not here!

Was that her footstep on the hill-
Her voice upon the gale?—
No; 'twas the wind, and all is still:
Oh, maid of Marlivale!

Come to me, love, I've wander'd far, 'Tis past the promised hour: Come to me, love, the twilight star Shall guide thee to my bower.

A FRAGMENT.

"Tis night, the spectred hour is nigh!
Pensive I hear the moaning blast
Passing, with sad sepulchral sigh,
My lyre that hangs neglected by,

And seems to mourn for pleasures past!
That lyre was once attuned for thee
To many a lay of fond delight,
When all thy days were given to me,
And mine was every blissful night.

SONG.

WHEN Time, who steals our years away,
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stray,
And half our joys renew.

Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower Shall feel the wintry air, Remembrance will recal the hour When thou alone wert fair!

Then talk no more of future gloom;

Our joys shall always last; For hope shall brighten days to come, And memory gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,

I drink to love and thee: Thou never canst decay in soul,

Thou 'It still be young for me.

And, as thy lips the tear-drop chase Which on my cheek they find, So hope shall steal away the trace

Which sorrow leaves behind!

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! Our joys shall always last;

For hope shall brighten days to come,
And memory gild the past!

But mark, at thought of future years
When love shall lose its soul,
My Chloe drops her timid tears-
They mingle with my bowl!

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,
Our loving life shall fleet;
Though tears may sometimes mingle there,
The draught will still be sweet!

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! Our joys shall always last;

For hope will brighten days to come, And memory gild the past!

THE SHRINE.

ΤΟ

My fates had destined me to rove
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lured my pious steps to stay;
For, if the saint was young and fair,
I turn'd and sung my vespers there.
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require:
Το nor tell a single bead,
pass,

With them would be profane indeed!
But, trust me, all this young devotion,
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, every humbler altar past,

I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls Has long been remember'd with awe and dismay! For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls,

And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day.

Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam,
Yet none could the woods of the castle illume;
And the lightning which flash'd on the neighbouring

stream

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse?«
Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave;-
It can never dispel, said the wizard of verse,

Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!

And who was the bright star of chivalry then? Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age? For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her

page.

For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,
It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn!
Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?
Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave,
That darkness should cover the castle for ever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!

She flew to the wizard-And tell me, oh tell!
Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?»-
Yes, yes-when a spirit shall toll the great bell
Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!"

Twice, thrice he repeated, Your Reuben shall rise!» And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; She wiped, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes, And she hoped she might yet see her hero again!

Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose! To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,

In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.—

How strangely the order of destiny falls!

Not long in the waters the warrior lay, When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray!

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love on the wide river's bank.

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,

And she heard but the breathings of night in the air;

Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there.

And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 't was his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam.

And now the third night was begemming the sky,

Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, When,-hark!-'t was the bell that came deep in the wind!

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;
She knew 't was her love, though his cheek was decay'd,
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide.

Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold?—
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam;
'T was Reuben, but ah! he was deathly and cold,
And titted away like the spell of a dream!

I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I rather hopethough the manner of it leads me to doubt-that his design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa miracula of true poetic imagination.

I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this story in a German suibor, FROMANN upon Fascination, book iii, part. vi, ch. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromann quotes it from Belnacensis, among many o her stories equally diabolical and interesting.-E.

He went unto the feast, and much

He thought upon his ring;

And much he wonder'd what could mean

So very strange a thing!

The feast was o'er, and to the court
He went without delay,
Resolved to break the marble hand,
And force the ring away!

But mark a stranger wonder still—
The ring was there no more;
Yet was the marble hand ungrasp'd,
And open as before!

He search'd the base, and all the court,
And nothing could he find,
But to the castle did return

With sore bewilder'd mind.

Within he found them all in mirth, The night in dancing flew;

The youth another ring procured, And none the adventure knew.

And now the priest has join'd their hands, The hours of love advance!

Rupert almost forgets to think

Upon the morn's mischance.

Within the bed fair Isabel

In blushing sweetness lay,

Like flowers half-open'd by the dawn,

And waiting for the day.

And Rupert, by her lovely side,

In youthful beauty glows,

Like Phœbus, when he bends to cast
His beams upon a rose!

And here my song should leave them both,
Nor let the rest be told,

But for the horrid, horrid tale
It yet has to unfold!