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But there met a frost so great
When poor Cupid thus (constrain’d His cold bed to leave) complain'd, “ Alas! what lodging's here for me, “ If all icc and fire she be?"
The Surprize. There's no dallying with Love,
Though he be a child, and blind; Then let none the danger prove
Who would to himself be kind : Smile he does when thou dost play, But his smiles to death betray.
Lately with the boy I sported;
Love I did not, yet love feign'd; Had no mistress, yet I courted ;
Sigh I did, yet was not pain’d: 'Till at last this love in jest Prov'd in earnest my unrest
When I saw my fair-one first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;
But true fames my poor heart pierc'd,
When her eyes on mine she turu'd :
· None who loves not, then, make shew:
Love's as ill deceiv'd as fate; Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo,
Mock him, and he wounds thee straight. Ah! who dally boast in vain ; False love wants not real pain.
Love once, love ever.
SHALL I, hopeless, then pursue
A fair shadow that still flies me?
A proud heart that does despise me?
Whilst these thoughts my soul possess,
Reason Passion would o’ersway,
Bidding me my flames suppress,
Or divert some other way ; But what Reason would pursue, That my heart runs counter to.
So a pilot, bent to make
Search for some unfound-out land, Does with him the magnet take,
Sailing to the unknown strand; But that (steer which way he will) To the loved north points still.
[An Extract.] Thou youthful goddess of the mora,
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
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,
But all those little birds, whose notes
Sweetly the listening ear enthrall,
To the clear water's murmuring fall
With holy reverence inspir’d,
When first the day renews its light,
The earth, at so divine a sight,
The humble shepherd, to his rays
Having his rustic 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 flowery gardens goes,
Buzzing, to drink the morning's tears,
And from the early Lily bears
The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and unnatural,