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Here then, to-day, (with faith as sure,
With ardor as intense and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine
I took thy troth, and plighted mine)
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring,
A token and a pledge I bring;
With this I wed, till Death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
These virtues, which, before untry'd,
The wife has added to the bride ;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing Wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For Conscience sake, as well as Love's.

For why!—They shew me hour by hour Honor's high thought, Affection's pow'r, Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence : And teach me all things—but Repentance !

то

A YOUNG LADY,

ON

SEEING HER DANCE.

BY PETER PINNELL, M. A.

O! may you walk, as years advance,
Smooth and erect, as now you dance ;
May you on each important stage,
From bloom of youth to wither'd age,
Assert your claim to merit's prize,
And, as at present, charm our eyes ;
Observant of decorum's laws,
And moving with the same applause,
May you, thro’ life's perplexing maze,
Direct your steps with equal praise ;
Its intricate meanders trace
With regularity and grace ;
From the true figure never swerve,
And time in every step observe ;
Give ear to harmony and reason,
Nor make one motion out of season!

Thus will life's current gently flow, And pour forth every

bliss below; Till nature failing, ebb shall bring Death with his dart—but not his sting!

TO

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,
0! may that friendship be with You !

то

A LADI.

BY

THE REV. S. HENLET.

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 Aedg'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.

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