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An heart that scorns a shameful thing,
With love and verse, is all I bring,
Of love and verse the gift receive,
'Tis all thy servant has to give.

If all whate'er my verse has told, Golconda's gems, and Afric's gold; If all were mine from pole to pole, How large her share who shares my soul ? But more than these may Heaven impart; Be thine the treasures of the heart; Be calm, and glad thy future days With Virtue’s peace, and Virtue's praise. Let jealous Pride, and sleepless Care, And wasting Grief, and black Despair, And Languor chill, and Anguish fell, For ever shun thy grove and cell ; There only may the happy train Of Love, and Joy, and Peace, remain : May Plenty, with exhaustless store, Employ thy hand to feed the poor, And ever on thy honor'd lead The

prayer of Gratitude be shed.

A happy mother may’st thou see Thy smiling virtuous progeny, Whose sportful tricks, and airy play, Fraternal love, and prattle gay,

Or wond'rous tale, or joyful song May lure the lingering hours along, Till Death arrive, unfelt, unseen, With gentle pace, and placid mien, And waft thee to that happy shore, Where wishes can have place no more.

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TO

A YOUNG LADY,

ON JER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD,

In a Room hung with some Flow T. Pieces of her own Painting.

By the Same.

When STELLA strikes the tuneful string
In scenes of imitated Spring,
Where Beauty lavishes hier powers,
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And Pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound,
Ah! think not in the dangerous hour,
The Nymph fictitious as the flower ;
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the snares of wily Love.

When charms thus press on every sense,
What thought of Aight, or of defence ?
Deceitful Hope, and vain Desire,
For ever Autter o'er her lyre,
Delighting, as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye ;

And forming, with unerring art,
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on these regions of delight,
Might Truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral song,
Instruction with her flowers might spring,
And Wisdom warble from her string.

Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes, Thou seest one pleasing form arise, How active liglit, and thoughtful shade, In greater scenes each other aid; Mirk, when the different notes agree. In friendly contrariety, How passion's well-accorded strife Gives all the harmony of life, Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, Consistent still, though not the same, Thy music teach the nobler art, To tune the regulated heart,

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Where the loveliest expression to features is join'd,
By Nature's most delicate pencil design'd;
Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art,
Speak the softness and feeling that dwell in the heart;
Where in manners, enchanting, no blemish we trace,
But the soul keeps the promise we had from the face;
Sure philosophy, reason, and coldness must prove
Defences unequal to shield us from love :
Then tell me, mysterious enchanter, oh, tell !
By what wonderful art, by what magical spell,
My heart is so fenc'd that for once I am wise,
And

gaze without rapture on Amoret's eyes ;
That my wishes, which never were bounded before,
Are here bounded by friendship, and ask for no morej
Is’t reason? Nɔ; that my whole life will belie,
For who so at variance as reason and I ?
Is't ambition that hills up each chink of my heart,
Nor allows any softer sensation a part?

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