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But why, my Chloe! tell me why,
Why trickles down this silent tear?
Why do those blushes rise and die?
Why stand I mute when thou art here?

E'en sleep affords my soul no rest,

Thee bathing in the stream I view ; With thee I dance, with thee I feast, Thee through the gloomy grove pursue.

Triumphant god of gay desires!

Thy vassal's raging pains remove;

I burn, I burn, with fiercer fires,

Oh! take my life, or crown my love!

JAMES THOMSON,

Born 1700, died 1748.

SONG.

UNLESS with my Amanda bless'd,

In vain I twine the woodbine bower;

Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.

Awaken'd by the genial year,

In vain the birds around me sing; In vain the freshening fields appear :

Without my love there is no Spring.

SONG.

FOR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to Love,

And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?

Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the soul away;
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the love of life is gone?

But busy, busy still art thou,
To bind the loveless, joyless vow,

The heart from pleasure to delude,

To join the gentle to the rude.

For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer,

And I absolve thy future care;

All other blessings I resign,

Make but the dear Amanda mine.

K

ON

SOAME JENYNS,

Born 1703-4, died 1787.

CHLOE ANGLING.

yon fair brook's enamell'd side, Behold, my Chloe stands !

Her angle trembles o'er the tide,
As conscious of her hands.

Calm as the gentle waves appear
Her thoughts serenely flow,
Calm as the softly breathing air

That curls the brook below.

Such charms her sparkling eyes disclose,
With such soft power endued,
She seems a new-born Venus rose
From the transparent flood.

From each green bank, and mossy cave,

A scaly race repair;

They sport beneath the crystal wave,

And kiss her image there.

Here the bright silver eel, enroll'd

In shining volumes, lies;

There basks the carp, bedropp'd with gold, In the sunshine of her eyes.

With hungry pikes in wanton play

The timorous trouts appear;

The hungry pikes forget to prey,
The timorous trouts to fear.

With equal haste the thoughtless crew
To the fair tempter fly;

Nor grieve they, whilst her eyes they view,
That by her hand they die.

Thus I too view'd the nymph of late;

Ah, simple fish, beware!

Soon will you find my wretched fate,

And struggle in the snare."

But, fair one, though these toils succeed,
Of conquest be not vain ;

Nor think o'er all the scaly breed
Unpunish'd thus to reign.

Remember, in a watery glass

His charms Narcissus spied, When for his own bewitching face The youth despair'd and died.

No more then harmless fish ensnare,
No more such wiles pursue;

Lest, whilst you baits for them prepare,

Love find one out for you.

CHLOE HUNTING.

WHILST thousands court fair Chloe's love,

She fears the dangerous joy,

But, Cynthia-like, frequents the grove,

As lovely and as coy.

With the same speed she seeks the hind,

Or hunts the flying hare;

She leaves pursuing swains behind,
To languish and despair.

Oh, strange caprice in thy dear breast,
Whence first this whim began;

To follow thus each worthless beast,
And shun their sovereign, man!

Consider, fair, what 'tis you do,
How thus they both must die;
Not surer they, when you pursue,
Than we, whene'er you fly.

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