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and delicate variations, which he might otherwise have passed over; and I would not anticipate the pleasure he will receive from his own discoveries of this kind. An ample store of beauties lies open for his inspection, and he will probably find reason to flatter himself, that in this species of poetry, as well as in every other, the English follow the claslic antients with a bold and vigorous step, and strain hard for the palm of victory,


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The youth that fondly fits by thee ;
And fees, and hears thee, all the while,
Softly speak, and fweetly smile.


'Twas this depriv’d my soul of reft,
And rais'd such tumults in

For while I gaz'd, in transport toft,
My breath was gone, my voice was loft.


* Though it may seem irregular to begin a collection of English Songs with an ode of Sappho, yet I am tempted to do it on account of the excellence of the translation, which has almost the merit of an original, and that the reader may have so nearly in his view a pattern of perfection with which he may compare the rest,

My bosom glow'd, a subtle flame
Ran quick thro' all my vital frame;

dim eyes a darkness hung, My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chillid,
My blood with gentle horrors thrillid;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and died away.


HY fatal shafts unerring move,

I bow before thine altar, Love ;
I feel the soft resistless flame
Glide swift thro' all my vital frame.

, ;

For while I gaze, my bofom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,
And floods of transport whelm my soul.

My fault'ring tongue attempts in vain
In foothing numbers to complain ;

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My tongue fome secret magic ties,
My murmurs link in broken fighs.

Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the filent tear,
Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,
Unfriended live, unpity'd die.


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H! the shepherd's mournful fate!

When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish, To bear the scornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare disclose his anguish.
Yet eager looks, and dying fighs,

My secret soul discover,
While rapture trembling thro' my eyes

Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek,

O'erspread with rifing blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes,


For oh ! that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush, and modest air,

So artfully beguiling!
Thy every look, and every grace

So charms whene'er I view thee,
Till death o'ertake me in the chase

Still will my hopes pursue thee :
Then when my tedious hours are past

Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in sight of heaven.



O, tell Amynta, gentle swain,

I would not die, nor dare complain ;
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy voice will more prevail than mine:
For souls oppress’d, and dumb with grief,
The Gods ordain'd this kind relief,
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say,

H 2

A figh,

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