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And prove whose patience longest can endure;
We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost
In dreams of fondest passion most; For if thou thus hast loved, oh, never hope a cure!
The slow-eyed Cares thy mild dominion
But, hovering round on frolic pinion,
The full orb’d moon, that rose all glowing,
In liquid warbles fondly flowing,
Yet lovelier beams the gentle glory
Yet sweeter than his warbled story
On every grief but mine so ready To bid the balm of comfort flow; Nor shall that eye, which every woe
But mine can melt, thus ever steady To me alone no pity show.
Like mine her bosom now may feel
Though maiden modesty dissemble;
The' involuntary tear may tremble, And own the triumph of the strain :
So whispers Hope : by Fancy led
With rosy wreaths her sacred anchor
With stifled smiles of patient rancour,
Ah! still, though whisper'd to deceive,
Content from grief one hour to borrow!
Hang gathering clouds of future sorrow,
TO A YOUNG LADY.
Why thus decline my troubled eyes,
If hither their mild lustre bending Those azure orbs to meet me rise ? Why thus, with thee conversing, dies
My voice, in broken murmurs ending ?
Yet, dawning from my looks distress'd,
Yet wooing in the coy expression
Read-ah too dear! the fond confession.
In vain! what these soft tumults show,
From thee, yet new to love, is hidden;
What means the sigh, the blush unbidden.
But hope not ever thus secure
To dart thy wildly wandering glances :
On hasty wing thy youth advances.
O skill'd in every graceful art
That adds a polish'd charm to beauty ;
TO THE ZEPHYRS.
Ye! before whose genial breath
Girt with troops of wan diseases,
Linger ye, propitious breezes ?
Hither, where my languid maid
Come with balmy spirit blowing;
Health in rosy beauty glowing,
While with giddy gesture after Trip gay Sports of wilder glance, Tiptoe Dance,
Dimpled Smiles, and sleek-brow'd Laughter.
Joy-born Mirth shall lead the train;
Her each sprightlier Love shall follow,
In the dimple's treacherous hollow.
So your praise my song shall tell;
Pour to you the liquid measures ;
Murmuring sweetly pensive pleasures.
Blushing if it meet my gazes,
Little you regard my praises.
Sound your voices sadly sighing,
To your airy woe replying ;
As around her charms ye hover,
O WAVING woods! O hills!
O springs, and warbling rills! O far spread wilds, and sun-excluding bowers !
Where, stung with anguish deep,
I wander'd oft to weep,