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No, no !-Yet, love, I will not chide,

Although your heart were fond of roving : Nor that, nor all the world beside,

Could keep your faithful boy from loving. You 'll soon be distant from his eye,

And, with you, all that 's worth possessing Oh ! then it will be sweet to die,

When life has lost its only blessing !

When lightly thou didst fly to meet
The girl, who smiled so rosy sweet-
The girl thou l.vedst with fonder pain
Than e'er thy heart can feel again!
You met-your wouls seem'd all in one-
Sweet little sports were said and done-
Thy heart was warm enough for both,
And hers indeed was nothing loth.
Such were the hours that once were thine;
But, ah! those hours no longer shine!
For now the nymph delights no more
In what she loved so dear before;
And all Catullus now can do
Is to be proud and frigid too;
Nor follow where the wanton flies,
Nor sue the bliss that she denies.
False maid! he bids farewell to thee,
To love, and all love's misery.
The hey-day of his heart is o'er,
Nor will he court one favour more;
But soon he'll see thee droop thy head,
Doom'd to a lone and loveless bed,
When none will seek the happy night,
Or come to traffic in delight!
Fly, perjured girl !-but whither fly?
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye ?
Who now will drink the syren tone,
Which tells him thou art all his own?
Who now will court thy wild delights,
Thy honey kiss, and turtle bites ?
Oh! none.—And he who loved before
Can never, never love thee more!

SONG. SWEET seducer! blandly smiling; Charming still, and still beguiling! Of I swore to love thee never, Yet I love thee more than ever! Why that little wanton blushing, Glancing eye, and bosom flushing ? Flushing warm, and wily glancingAll is lovely, all entrancing! Turn away those lips of blisses I am poison'd by thy kisses ! Yet, again, ah! turn them to me: Ruin 's sweet, when they undo me! Oh! be less, be less enchanting ; Let some little grace be wanting; Let my eyes, when I'm expiring, Gaze awhile without admiring!

EPIGRAM.' Your mother says, my little Venus, There's something not correct between us,

And you're in fault as much as I: Now, on my soul, my little Venus, I think 't would not be right between us,

To let your mother tell a lie !

TO JULIA THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part,

Our souls it cannot, shall not, sever; The heart will seek its kindred heart,

And cling to it as close as ever. But must we, must we part indeed ?

Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia's bosom bleed

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ? Does she too mourn?—Perhaps she may;

Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting: But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating ? I oft have loved the brilliant glow

Of rapture in her blue eye streamingBut can the bosom bleed with woe,

While joy is in the glances beaming ?


A FRAGMENT. In vain we fondly strive to trace The soul's reflection in the face; In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, Crooked mouth, or short proboscis; Boobies have look'd as wise and bright As Plato or the Stagyrite : And many a sage and learned skull Has peep'd through windows dark and da Since then, though art do all it can, We ne'er can reach the inward man, Nor inward woman, from without (Though, ma'am, you smile, as if in doubt) I think 't were well if Nature could (And Nature could, if Nature would) Some pretty short descriptions writo, In tablets large, in black and white, Which she might hang about our throttles, Like labels upon physic-bottles. There we might read of all-But stayAs learned dialectics say, The argument most apt and ample For common use, is the example. For instance, then, if Nature's care Had not arranged those traits so fair, Which speak the soul of Lucy L-nd-n, This is the label she'd have pinn'd on.


Within this vase there lies enshrined The purest, brightest gem of mind'

1 I believe this epigram is originally French.-E.


Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw But your lip, love! is only St. Peter,
Upon its charms the shade of woe,

And keeps but the key to your heaven!
The lustre of the gem, when veil'd,
Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd.
Now, sirs, imagine, if you 're able,

TO JULIA. That Nature wrote a second label,

Mock me no more with love's beguiling dream, They 're her own words—at least suppose som A dream, I find, illusory as sweet : And boldly pin it on Pomposo.

One smile of friendship, nay of cold esteem,

Is dearer far than passion's bland deceit! When I composed the fustian brain

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare ; Of this redoubted Captain Vain,

Your heart was only mine, I once believed. I had at hand but few ingredients,

Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air ? And so was forced to use expedients.

And must I say, my hopes were all deceived ? I put therein some small discerning,

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, A grain of sense, a grain of learning;

That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal: And when I saw the void behind,

Julia ! 't is pity, pity makes you kind; I fill'd it up with—froth and wind !

You know I love, and you would seem to feel. But shall I still go revel in those arms

On bliss in which affection takes no part?

No, no! farewell! you give me but your charms, TO MRS. M

When I had fondly thought you gave your heart Sweet lady! look not thus again :

Those little pouting smiles recalA maid remember'd now with pain, Who was my love, my life, my all!

IMPROMPTU. Oh! while this heart delirious took

Look in my eyes, my blushing fair ! Sweet poison from her thrilling eye,

Thou 'lt see thyself reflected there ; Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look,

And, as I gaze on thine, I see And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh!

Two little miniatures of me:

Thus in our looks some propagation lies,
Yes, I did love her-madly love-

For we make babies in each other's eyes !
She was the sweetest, best deceiver!
And oft she swore she'd never rove!
And I was destined to believe her!

Then, lady, do not wear the smile
Of her whose smile could thus betray :

Does the harp of Rosa slumber?

Once it breathed the sweetest number: Alas! I think the lovely wile

Never does a wilder song Again might steal my heart away.

Steal the breezy lyre along, And when the spell that stole my mind

When the wind, in odours dying, On lips so pure as thine I see,

Woos it with enamour'd sighing. I fear the heart which she resign'd

Does the harp of Rosa cease ?
Will err again, and fly to thee !

Once it told a tale of peace
To her lover's throbbing breast-

Then he was divinely blest!

Ah' but Rosa loves no more,
Why, the world are all thinking about it ;

Therefore Rosa's song is o'er; And, as for myself, I can swear,

And her harp neglected lies; If I fancied that heaven were without it,

And her boy forgotten sighs. I'd scarce feel a wish to go there.

Silent harp-forgotten lover

Rosa's love and song are over ! If Mahomet would but receive me,

And Paradise be as he paints, I'm greatly afraid, God forgive me!

I'd worship the eyes of his saints.

But why should I think of a trip
To the Prophet's seraglio above,

--sine me sit nulla Venus. Sulpicia. When Phillida gives me her lip, As my own little heaven of love?

Our hearts, my love, were doom'd to Oh, Phillis ! that kiss may be sweeter

The genuine twins of Sympathy : Than ever by mortal was given »

They live with one sensation :

But then 't is the creature luxuriant and fresh

That my passion with ecstacy owns : For indeed, my dear madam, though fond of the flesh

I never was partial to bones!

In joy or grief, but most in love,
Our heart-strings musically move,

And thrill with like vibration.
How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play

When mine no more is moving ! Since, now, to feel a joy alone Were worse to thee than feeling none :

Such sympathy in loving!
And, oh! how often in those eyes,
Which melting beam'd like azure skies

In dewy vernal weather-
How often have I raptured read
The burning glance, that silent said,

"Now, love, we feel together ?"

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY Sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep

Nor sees my tears, nor hears my sighs, Oh! I will weep, in luxury weep,

Till the last heart's-drop fills mine eyes. But if thy sainted soul can feel,

And mingles in our misery,
Then, then, my breaking heart I'll seal-

Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me! The beam of morn was on the stream,

But sullen clouds the day deform: Thou wert, indeed, that morning beam,

And death, alas! that sullen storm. Thou wert not form'd for living here,

For thou wert kindred with the sky; Yet, yet we held thee all so dear,

We thought thou wert not form'd to die !

I saw the peasant's hand unkind

From yonder oak the ivy sever;
They seem'd in very being twined;

Yet now the oak is fresh as ever. Not so the widow'd ivy shines :

Torn from its dear and only stay, In drooping widowhood it pines,

And scatters all its blooms away! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine,

Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties : Thus gay indifference blooms in thine,

While mine, deserted, droops and dies !

TO JULIA. Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet, When absent souls in fancy meet! At midnight, love, I 'll think of thee! At midnight, love! oh think of me! Think that thou givest thy dearest kiss, And I will think I feel the bliss : Then, if thou blush, that blush be mine; And, if I weep, the tear be thine !

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Yes, I think I once heard of an amorous youth

Who was caught in his grandmother's bed ; But I own I had ne'er such a liquorish tooth

As to wish to be there in his stead. 'T is for you, my dear madam, such conquests to

make :
Antiquarians may value you high :
But I swear I can't love for antiquity's sake,

Such a poor virtuoso am I.
I have seen many ruins all gilded with care,

But the cracks were still plain to the eye:
And I ne'er felt a passion to venture in there,

But turn'd up my nose, and pass'd by! I perhaps might have sigh’d in your magical chain

When your lip had more freshness to deck it: But I'd hate even Dian herself in the wane,

She might then go to hell for a Hecate! No, no! when my heart's in these amorous faints,

Which is seldom, thank Heaven ! the case ;For, by reading the Fathers, and Lives of the Saints,

I keep up a stock of good grace :


HERE is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet has been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To write my name for ever there!

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Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,

That smile which is loveliest then ;
Away with this pouting and sadness! And if such are the drops that delight can beguile,

Sweet girl! will you never give o'er ? Thou shalt weep them again and again!
I love you, by Heaven! to madness,

And what can I swear to you more?
Believe not the old woman's fable,

That oaths are as short as a kiss ;
I'll love you as long as I'm able,

“Good night! good night!"-and is it so ?

And must I from my Rosa go?
And swear for no longer than this.

Oh, Rosa ! say“Good night!" once more,
Then waste not the time with professions ; And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er,
For not to be blest when we can

Till the first glance of dawning light
Is one of the darkest transgressions

Shall find us saying still, "Good night!"
That happen 'twixt woman and man.-

And still “Good night!" my Rosa say-
Pretty moralist! why thus beginning
My innocent warmth to reprove ?

But whisper still, " A minute stay;"
Heaven knows that I never loved sinning-

And I will stay, and every minute

Shall have an age of rapture in it.
Except little sinnings in love!

We'll kiss and kiss in quick delight,
If swearing, however, will do it,

And murmur, while we kiss, "Good night!"
Come, bring me the calendar, pray-
I vow by that lip I'll go through it,

“Good night!" you 'll murmur with a sigh, And not miss a saint on my way.

And tell me it is time to fly:

And I will vow to kiss no more,
The angels shall help me to wheedle;
I'll gwear upon every one

Yet kiss you closer than before;

Till slumber seal our weary sight-
That e'er danced on the point of a needle,'
Or rode on a beam of the sun!

And then, my love! my soul! "Good night!"
Oh! why should Platonic control, love,
Enchain an emotion so free?

Your soul, though a very sweet soul, love,
Will ne'er be sufficient for me.

If you think, by this coolness and scorning, I've oft been told by learned friars,
To seem more angelic and bright,

That wishing and the crime are one,
Be an angel, my love, in the morning,

And Heaven punishes desires
But, oh! be a woman to-night!

As much as if the deed were done.
If wishing damns us, you and I

Are damn'd to all our heart's content;

Come then, at least we may enjoy
Like him who trusts to summer skies,

Some pleasure for our punishment !
And puts his little bark to sea,
Le he who, lured by smiling eyes,
Consigns his simple heart to thee :

For fickle is the summer wind,
And sadly may the bark be toss'd ;

For thou art sure to change thy mind,

The wisest soul, by anguish torn,
And then the wretched heart is lost!

Will soon unlearn the lore it knew;
And when the shrining casket 's worn,

The gem within will tarnish too.

But love's an essence of the soul,
Ou! why should the girl of my soul be in tears

Which sinks not with this chain of clayAt a meeting of rapture like this,

Which throbs beyond the chill control When the glooms of the past, and the sorrow of years, Of withering pain or pale decay. Have been paid by a moment of bliss ?

And surely when the touch of death
Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight

Dissolves the spirit's mortal ties,
Which dwells on her memory yet?

Love still attends the soaring breath,
Do they flow, like the dews of the amorous night, And makes it purer for the skies !
From the warmth of the sun that has set ?

Oh, Rosa! when, to seek its sphere,

My soul shall leave this orb of men ! 1 I believe Mr. Little alluded here to a famous question That love it found so blissful here among the early schoolmen : "how many thousand angels

Shall be its best of blisses then! could dance upon the point of a very fine needle, without joatling one another ?" If he could have been thinking of

And, as in fabled dreams of old, the schools while he was writing this song, we cannot say " canit indoctum."

Some airy genius, child of time!

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The stain that on thy virtue lies,

Wash'd by thy tears may yet decay ; As clouds that sully morning skies

May all be swept in showers away. Go, go—be innocent, and live

The tongues of men may wound thee sore But Heaven in pity can forgive,

And bids thee “Go, and sin no more !"

Presided o'er each star that rollid,

And track'd it through its path sublime ; So thou, fair planet, not unled,

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; Thy lover's shade, divinely wed,

Shall linger round thy wandering way. Let other spirits range the sky,

And brighten in the solar gem; I'll bask beneath that lucid eye,

Nor envy worlds of suns to them!
And oh! if airy shapes may steal

To mingle with a mortal frame,
Then, then, my love !-but drop the veil !

Hide, hide from Heaven the unholy flame. No!—when that heart shall cease to beat,

And when that breath at length is free; Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet,

And mingle to eternity.

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in lacrymis verterat omne merum.

Tib. lib. i. eleg. 5.

Still the question I must party,

Still a wayward truant prove : Where I love, I must not marry,

Where I marry, cannot love. Were she fairest of creation,

With the least presuming mind; Learned without affectation;

Not deceitful, yet refined; Wise enough, but never rigid;

Gay, but not too lightly free, Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid;

Warm, yet satisfied with me : Were she all this, ten times over,

All that Heaven to earth allows, I should be too much her lover

Ever to become her spouse. Love will never bear enslaving;

Summer garments suit him best : Bliss itself is not worth having,

If we're by compulsion blest.

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!
Heaven grant no tears but tears of wine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe!


Illa nisi in lecto nusquam potuere docer.

Ovid. lib. II. eleg. 5.

ANACREONTIQUE. FRIEND of my soul! this goblet sip,

'T will chase that pensive tear; 'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, But, oh! 't is more sincere. Like her delusive beam,

"T will steal away thy mind; But, like affection's dream,

It leaves no sting behind !
Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;

These flowers were cull'd at noon ;-
Like woman's love the rose will fade,
But ah! not half so soon!
For, though the flower 's decay'd,

Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betray'd,

The heart can bloom no more!

Give me, my love, that billing kiss

I taught you one delicious nigh, When, turning epicures in bliss,

We tried inventions of delight. Come, gently steal my lips along,

And let your lips in murmurs move,Ah, no !-again—that kiss was wrong,

How can you be so dull, my love? “Cease, cease !" the blushing girl replied

And in her milky arms she caught me “How can you thus your pupil chide;

You know 't was in the dark you taught me!

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u Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more !"

St. John, chap. viii.

Oh, woman, if by simple wile

Thy soul has stray'd from honour's track, 'Tis mercy only can beguile,

By gentle ways, the wanderer back.


I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies,

And in thy breath his pinion dips,
Who suns him in thy lucent eyes,

And faints upon thy sighing lips :

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