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 thousands of 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 choose.

To

REMEMBER him thou leav'st behind, Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, Close as the tend'rest links can bind

A heart as warm as heart can be.

Oh! I had long in freedom roved,

Though many seem'd my soul to share; "Twas passion when I thought I loved, "Twas fancy when I thought them fair. Ev'n she, my muse's early theme,

Beguiled me only while she warın'd; 'Twas young desire that fed the dream,

And reason broke what passion form'd.

But thou-ah! better had it been

If I had still in freedom roved, If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,

For then I never should have loved.

Then all the pain which lovers feel

Had never to this heart been known; But then, the joys that lovers steal,

Should they have ever been my own?

Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this, Dearest the pain of loving thee, The very pain is sweeter bliss

Then passion's wildest ecstacy.

That little cage I would not part,

In which my soul is prison'd now, For the most light and winged heart

That wantons on the passing vow.

Still, my beloved! still keep in mind, However far removed from me, That there is one thou leav'st behind,

Whose heart respires for only thee!

And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care,
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

MRS.

ΤΟ

ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARACTER.

Is not thy mind a gentle mind?
Is not that heart a heart refined?
Hast thou not every gentle grace,
We love in woman's mind and face?
And, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin
To hold her hateful worship in?

No, no, be happy-dry that tear-
Though some thy heart hath harbor'd near,
May now repay its love with blame;
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame,
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee;
Though all the world look cold upon thee,
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still
Unharm'd by that surrounding chill;
Like the famed drop, in crystal found,
Floating, while all was froz'n around,-
Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be,
Safe in thy own sweet purity.

ANACREONTIC.

in lachrymas verterat omne merum.

TIB. lib. i. eleg. 5.

PRESS the grape, and let it pour Around the board its purple shower; And, while the drops my goblet steep, I'll think in woe the clusters weep.

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine!
Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe.

TO

WHEN I loved you, I can't but allow I had many an exquisite minute; But the scorn that I feel for you now Hath even more luxury in it.

Thus, whether we're on or we're off, Some witchery seems to await you; To love you was pleasant enough,

And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!

TO JULIA.

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS.

WHY, let the stingless critic chide With all that fume of vacant pride Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, Like vapor on a stagnant pool. Oh! if the song, to feeling true, Can please th' elect, the sacred few, Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught, Thrill with the genuine pulse of thoughtIf some fond feeling maid like thee, The warm-eyed child of Sympathy, Shall say, while o'er my simple theme She languishes in Passion's dream, "He was, indeed, a tender soul"No critic law, no chill control, "Should ever freeze, by timid art, "The flowings of so fond a heart!" Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love! That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove, Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild, And hail'd me Passion's warmest child,Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye, From Feeling's breast the votive sigh; Oh! let my song, my mem'ry, find A shrine within the tender mind; And I will smile when critics chide, And I will scorn the fume of pride Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, Like vapor round some stagnant pool!

TO JULIA.

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream,
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,
Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit!

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare;

Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air? And must I say, my hopes were all deceived?

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined,
That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal;
Julia!-'tis pity, pity makes you kind;
You know I love, and you would seem to feel.

But shall I still go seek within those arms

A joy in which affection takes no part? No, no, farewell! you give me but your charms,

When I had fondly thought you gave your heart

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 :
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But, trust me, all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, ev'ry humbler altar past,

I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

TO A LADY,

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS,

ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY.

WHEN, casting many a look behind,
I leave the friends I cherish here-
Perchance some other friends to find,
But surely finding none so dear-

Haply the little simple page,

Which votive thus I've traced for thee, May now and then a look engage,

And steal one moment's thought for me.

But, oh! in pity let not those

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, Let not the eye that seldom flows

With feeling's tear, my song behold.

For, trust me, they who never melt With pity, never melt with love; And such will frown at all I've felt, And all my loving lays reprove.

And if, perhaps, some gentler mind,

Which rather loves to praise than blame, Should in my page an interest find,

And linger kindly on my name;

Tell me-or, oh! if, gentler still,
By female lips my name be blest:
For, where do all affections thrill

So sweetly as in woman's breast?