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Next morning a peasant pass’d by,

And saw on the shore rudely cast The lovers; ah! clos'd was cach eye,

And their arms round each other twin'd fast! Now the willows so green ever wave

Their leaves o'er the lovers still tomb, And the lilies delight on their grave With beauty and fragrance to bloom.

Lynn, April 13th.

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FLIRTILLA with enchanting grace,

A lovely form, and beauteous face,
Attracts the gay admiring crowd,
Her charms by all the beaux allow'd:
Smiling on all who ardent gaze,
She heeds not love, but seeks for praise.
Her ruling passion vanity,
And fond of nought but fattery~
With bofom steel'd to Cupid's darts,
She plays with more fufceptive hearts;
Attentive hears each lover's tale,
While each believes his fighs prevail;
Gives hopes to all, but love to none,
Yet strives to please them ev'ry one :
Fops, fools, and wits, are all caress’d,
The most esteem'd who flatter beit.
Content to trifle time away,
She flies to opera, ball, or play;
But only goes to be admir’d,
By music, nor by sense, inspir’d:
Yer should a lover dare complain,
She foon discards him with disdain;
Laughs with his rivals, who, in turn,
To bear the same contempt must learn:
Regardless if her chains they break,
Secure fresh conquests still to make.

As careless spendthrifts squander wealth,
Her beauty (she destroys,) and health:
Of bliss Hymenial makes a jest;
Yet ’midit her pleasures is unbleft:
Still for the substance grafps the shade,
Still lives—degrading ihought!-a maid.
Ah, would Flirtilla me atrend,
(Not as a lover-but a friend,)
Reason and truth should clearly prove,
Joy only dwells with mutual love;
That coxcombs, plum'd in love's disguise,
Still flatter where they most despise;
That female friends, like pearls of morn,
Do but that glittering hour adorn;
That beauty, like the tender flower,
Lives not beyond the noon-tide hour;
That virgin charms soon fade and die,
And lovers, as inconstant, fly!

Then hafte, Flirtilla, would I say,
No longer trifle time away,
But take Constantia for thy guide,
Give, give thy hand, and be a bride ;
Then shalt thou taste the sweets of life,
Bleft as a mother and a wife,-
Know all the joys the world can give,
And honour'd and respected live.
Or shouldft thou his advice neglect,
Without a husband to protect,
Without a child in life's decline,
No aged comfort shall be thine;
But when the bloom of youth's gone by,
Neglected live, forgotten die.

March 8, 1793,

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EVELOPE, I believe, I can,

The reason why this noted man Would French refinements introduce ;

'Tis from a wish to heal his fame,

He wants to wipe a tarnish from his name,
From which it can't be freed while breeches are in use.


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Literary Review

Be niggards of advice on no pretence,
For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
Fear not the anger of the wife to raise,
Those befit can bear reproof who merit praise.


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An Epifle to a Friend, with other Poems. By the Au. thor of " The Pleasures of Memory.” pp. 47. 4to.

Cadell and Davies, 1798.
T is at all times incumbent on authors to consider

the extent of their reputation, and to know that whatever doth not add to their fame, must infallibly 1 lefsen it. Had this circumstance occurred to Mr.

Rogers, the author of The Pleasures of Memory, we do not think that he would have put upon us the very painful duty of censuring him for the present publication. If indeed, conscious as he must be that his works will descend to posterity, he meant merely to add to the bulk of those works, by the performance now before us, he has undoubtedly done as much, and as certainly no more than he intended. But we cannot think so of this poet; and therefore, although we may find something to commend in these pages, let it be remembered that as a whole, we cannot view them in any other light than as detracting from the established merit of their author.

Seeing very little worth notice in the “ Epistle to a Friend,” we present the ensuing small poems to the readers of this miscellany. Vol. IV,



TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. « On thee, bleft youth, a father's hand confers

The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew. Each soft enchantment of the foul is her's;

Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. As on she moves with hesitating grace,

She wins assurance from his foothing voice; And, with a look the pencil could not trace,

Smiles thro' her blushes, and confirms the choice. Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame!

To thee the turns-forgive a virgin's fears ! To thee she turns with sureft, tenderest claim;

Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears ! At each response the sacred rite requires,

From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh, A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires;

And on her lips the trembling accents die. O'er her fair face what wild emotions play!

What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend!
Soon shall they Ay, glad harbingers of day,

And settled sunshine on her soul descend !
Ah! soon, thine own confeft, ecstatic thought!

That hand shall strew each flinty path with flowers; And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught,

Gild the calın current of domestic hours !"

A FAREWELL. « Once more, enchanting girl, adicu!

I must be gone, while yet I may. Oft shall I weep to think of you;

But here I will not, cannot stay. The sweet expression of that face,

For ever shifting, yet the same,

I dare not turn to trace,
It melts my soul, it fires my frame!
Yet give me, give me, ere I go,

One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow,

And on your white neck love to reft.


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