ΤΟ

A LADY,

ON

ASKING MY OPINION OF FRIENDSHIP.

By the Same.

WOULD Chloe know the highest bliss,
That friendship boasts-it must be this ;—
When Hymen crowns what Love begun,
And two fond hearts unite in one;
When each, as to delight or pain,
Is bound in sympathetic chain,
And both reciprocally borrow,
To heighten joy, or sweeten sorrow.
This is the highest bliss below,
This friendship only can bestow;
And may propitious heaven design,
That such a friendship shall be mine,
And since this wish relates to two,
O! may that friendship be with You!

TO

A LADY.

BY

THE REV. S. HENLEY.

By the side of a stream that strays thro' the grove,
I met in a ramble, the blithe God of Love;
His bow o'er his shoulder was carelessly ty'd,
His quiver in negligence clanck'd at his side ;
A handful of arrows he held to my view,
Each wing'd with a feather that differ'd in hue.
"This fledg'd from the eagle, he smiling begun,
I aim at the heart that no dangers will shun;
And this from the peacock, all gaudy array'd,
The breast of Sir Fopling is sure to invade.
When I point at the Witling proud of his wit,
My shaft in the plume of a parrot will hit;

And when I've a mind that the Jealous should smart,

I pierce with an owl-feather'd arrow his heart.

For the Youth, in whom truth and fondness reside, From the breast of a dove my dart is supply'd: This I value the most :-and this 'twas I found From You, O my Delia, that gave me the wound.

TO

LADY HERVEY.

BY

M. DE VOLTAIRE.

HERVEY, Would you know the passion

You have kindled in my breast? Trifling is the inclination,

That by words can be express'd.

In my silence see the lover,

True love is by silence known; In my eyes you'll best discover

All the power of your own.

A

BIRTH-DAY OFFERING

TO A

YOUNG LADY."

FROM HER LOVER.

BY GEORGE CANNING, ESQ..

ERE this short winter's day be gone,
My MARY-ANNE is twenty-one.
Of days still shorter just a Lent,
Patch'd up from different years is spent,
Since her Devoted fairly reckon'd
The close of year the thirty-second.
Bending beneath the weight of years,
Full as infirm as he appears,
What can a worn-out lover do,
With twenty-one at thirty-two.?
For such a phrenzy no defence is-
The girl has clearly lost her senses.

Perhaps deceiv'd by some fond notion, Embrac'd in rapture of devotion,