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ΤΟ

A LADY.

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 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

ΤΟ Α

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,

(I quote such fancies to expose 'em)
She dreams of bliss in Abraham's bosom;
And chuses an Antique the rather,
With better grace to call him father.

Perhaps but fiction be suppress'd, While real joy expands my breastMy faithful flame her heart approves, And O! transporting thought! she loves.

When Souls, by impulse sympathetic, By intuition most prophetic, By feelings, which they cannot smother, Leap at first glance to meet each other, When each itself in t' other traces, What matter for their different cases? Of kin, perhaps, in pre-existence, Without dull Reason's slow assistance, They recollect the happy union, And long to recommence communion. I must confess that such attraction, For ease, convenience, satisfaction, Were best if, on deliberation, It met with Reason's approbation: Not as of absolute dominion, To rule by dint of dark opinion; Not as a Lord of sovereign sway, Whom love must worship and obey; But merely as the herd inferior May judge the acts of Powers superior;

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