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WHY dost

thou say I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already morn;
It was last night I swore to thee

That fond impossibility.
Yet have I lov'd thee well, and long;

A tedious twelve-hours' space!
I should all other beauties wrong,

And rob thee of a new embrace,
Did I still doat upon that face.

A MARANTHA, sweet and fair,

Ah! braid no more that shining hair ;
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee, let it fly.
Let it fly as unconfin'd
As its calm ravisher the wind;
Who hath left his darling east
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.,
Every tress, must be confest,
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clew of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.
Do not then bind up that light
In ribands, and o'ercloud in night,
But, like the sun in's early ray,
Shake your head, and scatter day!



From the Sun-rise; a Poem. THOU youthful goddess of the morn,

Whose blush they in the east adore, Daughter of Phæbus, who before Thy all-enlightening sire art born! Haste, and restore the day to me, That my love's beauteous object I may see.

Too much of time the night devours,

The cock's shrill voice calls thee again, Then quickly mount thy golden wain, Drawn by the softly-sliding hours, And make apparent to all eyes With what enamel thou dost paint the skies. Ah, now I see the sweetest dawn!

Thrice welcome to my longing sight!

Hail, divine beauty, heavenly light; I see thee through yon cloud of lawn Appear, and as thy star does glide, Blanching with rays the east on every side. Dull silence, and the drowsy king

Of sad and melancholy dreams,

Now fly before thy cheerful beams,
The darkest shadows vanquishing :
The owl, that all the night did keep
A hooting, now is fled and gone to sleep.
But all those little birds, whose notes

Sweetly the listening ear enthral,
To the clear water's murmuring fall
Accord their disagreeing throats :
The lustre of that greater star
Praising, to which thou art but harbinger.

With holy reverence inspir'd,

When first the day renews its light,

The earth, at so divine à sight,
Seems, as if all one altar fir'd,
Reeking with perfumes to the skies,
Which she presents, her native sacrifice.
The humble shepherd, to his rays

Having his humble homage paid,

And to some cool retired shade
Driven his bleating flocks to graze,
Sits down, delighted with the sight
Of that great lamp, so mild, so fair, so bright.
The bee, through flow'ry gardens goes

Buzzing, to drink the morning's tears,

And from the early lily bears
A kiss commended to the rose,
And, like a wary messenger,
Whispers some amorous story in her ear.

&c. &c. &c.

• The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and unnatural,



To the inconstant Cynthia. IN thy fair breast, and once fair soul,

I thought my vows were writ alone :
But others' oaths so blurred the scroll,

That I no more could read my own.
And am I still oblig'd to pay
When you had thrown the bond away?
Nor must we only part in joy,

Our tears as well must be unkind;
Weep you, that could such truth destroy,

And I that did such falseness find. Thus we must unconcern'd remain In our divided joys and pain. Yet we may love, but on this different score, You what I am, I what you were before.

THE RESOLUTION. No, Cynthia, never think I can

Love a divided heart and mind; Your sunshine love to every man,

Appears alike as great as kind. None but the duller Persians kneel,

And the bright god of beams implore ; Whilst others equal influence feel,

That never did the god adore. Though I resolve to love no more,

Since I did once, I will advise : The love of conquests now give o'er; Disquiets wait on victories.

To your much injured peace and name,

Love's farewel as a tribute pay ; Grow more reserv'd, and raise your fame

By your own choice, not your decay.

She that to age her charms resigns,

And then at last turns votary, Though virtue much the change inclines,

'Tis sullied by necessity.

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