SONG.
ONE

day the god of fond desire,
On mischief bent, to Damon said,
Why not disclose your tender fire,

Not own it to the lovely maid ?

The shepherd mark'd his treacherous art,

And, softly sighing, thus replied : 'Tis true you have subdued my heart,

But shall not triumph o'er my pride.

The slave in private only bears

Your bondage, who his love conceals ; But when his passion he declares,

You drag him at your chariot-wheels.

SONG.

HARD is the fate of him who loves,

Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, But to the sympathetic groves,

But to the lonely listening plain.

Oh! when she blesses next your shade,

Oh! when her footsteps next are seen In flowery tracks along the mead,

In fresher mazes o'er the green,

Ye gentle spirits of the vale,

To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale,

And sigh my sorrows in her ear.

Oh tell her what she cannot blame,
Though fear

my tongue must ever bind; Oh tell her that my virtuous flame

Is as her spotless soul refin'd.

Not her own guardian angel eyes

With chaster tenderness his care, Not purer her own wishes rise,

Not holier her own sighs in prayer.

But if, at first, her virgin fear

Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship sooth her ear

True love and friendship are the same.

SONG.

UNLESS with my Amanda blest,

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 life 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.

SONG.

COME, gentle god of soft desire,

Come and possess my happy breast, Not Fury-like in flames and fire,

Or frantic Folly's wildness drest; But come in Friendship’s angel-guise :

Yet dearer thou than friendship art, More tender spirit in thy eyes,

More sweet emotions at the heart.

O come with goodness in thy train,

With peace and pleasure void of storm,
And wouldst thou me for ever gain,

Put on Amanda's winning form.

O D E.

ONIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove,

That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Blest in the full possession of thy love:

O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale, to me!

'Tis mine, alas ! to mourn my wretched fate:

I love a maid who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate;

Inhuman Fortune keeps her from my arms.

You, happy birds! by Nature's simple laws

Lead your soft lives, sustain’d by Nature's fare; You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,

And love and song is all your pleasing care :

But we, vain slaves of int’rest and of pride,

Dare not be blest, lest envious tongues should blame: And hence in vain I languish for my bride;

O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame.

O DE

TO SERAPHINA.

THE wanton's charms, however bright,
Are like the false illusive light,
Whose flattering unauspicious blaze
To precipices oft betrays :
But that sweet ray your beauties dart,
Which clears the mind, and cleans the heart,
Is like the sacred queen of night,
Who pours a lovely gentle light
Wide o'er the dark, by wanderers blest,
Conducting them to peace and rest.

A vicious love depraves the mind,
'Tis anguish, guilt, and folly join'd;
But Seraphina's eyes dispense
A mild and gracious influence;
Such as in visions angels shed
Around the heaven-illumin'd head.
To love thee, Seraphina, sure
Is to be tender, happy, pure;
'Tis from low passions to escape;
And woo bright Virtue's fairest shape;
'Tis ecstasy with wisdom join'd;
And heaven infus'd into the mind.