CXXVII. OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 1728-1774. WHEN OLIVIA'S SONG. 7HEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, CXXVIII. THE TO MARY. WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800. HE twentieth year is well nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah! would that this might be the last ; My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow; 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary! For though thou gladly would'st fulfil My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, Have wound themselves about this heart, Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream; My Mary! Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, That now at every step thou movest My Mary! And still to love, though prest with ill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary! CXXIX. LIFE. ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD, 1743-1825. L IFE! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me's a secret yet. But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, As all that then remains of me. O whither, whither dost thou fly, Where bend unseen thy trackless course, And in this strange divorce, Ah tell where I must seek this compound I? Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Through blank oblivious years the appointed hour, |