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Yet, why a lonely wanderer stray?
Alone the joy pursue ?
Can charm thy Mary too.
Beneath the waving corn,
And bless'd the dewy morn;
(My presence then could move),
To gaze and talk of love.'
Yet I my rivals deem
The silence, and the stream.
I'll yet forgive thy stay;
We'll brush the dews away.
SONG, ON A KISS.
HUMID geal of soft affections !
Tenderest pledge of future bliss ! Dearest tie of young connexions !
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss! Speaking silence! dumb confession!
Passion's birth and infant play! Dovelike fondness, chaste concession,
Glowing dawn of brighter day!
Sorrowing joy! adieu's last action,
When lingering lips no more must join ! What words can ever speak affection
So thrilling, so sincere as thine ?
Nor on the naked breast can find,
Sole offspring thou of lips conjoin'd!
With Hebe spend the laughing day! Dwell in her rubied lips' expansion !
Bask in her eyes propitious ray!
Be mine the little rosy boy
But ever let the snow-wing'd dove
Let the pedant proud disdain
Let the envious hypocrite
Love to peace Ambition charms,
PLEASURE AND DESIRE. In yonder bower lies Pleasure sleeping,
And near him mourns a blooming maid ! He will not wake, and she sits weeping;
When lo! a stranger proffers aid : His hurried step, his glance of fire,
The god of wishes wild declare! · Fond Pleasure, wake!' exclaims Desire,
And Pleasure wakes to bless the fair.
Desire asleep is doom'd to view;
And wake Desire, as he woke you.'
Distinct must each his province keep: Desire must still awaken Pleasure,
And Pleasure lull Desire to sleep.
M. G. LEWIS.
I've wander'd east and west;
But sought in vain for rest.
I feel that one's too wide,
Worth all the world beside.
Wanders unconscious where,
SONG. THE MAID OF CATMOSE.
Did you see my fair one ever
In her vernal morn of love?
Soft as turtle of the grove.
Blushing in her early teens !
Though the garden's rival queens. Budding like the Paphian myrtle,
Softly swell'd her virgin breast : There beneath the modest kirtle
Love yet slumber'd in his nest. Mild her eyebeam, sweetly playing,
Like the morning's tender light; Through the silken lashes straying,
Shafts resistless wing'd their flight.
Lo! a beveld vein appear.
And conceal'd the plunder here.
Blossom'd in her vernal hour.