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' Does age, old man, your wits confound ?

Replied the offended god, and frowned ; (His frown was sweet as is the virgin's smile!)

• Do you to me these words address ?

To me, who do not love you less, Though you my friendship scorn, and pleasures

past revile! • If one proud'fair you chanced to find,

A hundred other nymphs were kind, Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone:

But such is man! his partial hand

Unnumber'd favours writes on sand, But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.

* Ingrate! Who led you to the wave,

At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?

And wbo, when Celia shriek'd for aid,

Bade you with kisses hush the maid ? (say! What other was't than Love, oh! false Anacreon,

“ Then you could call me—" Gentle boy !

My only bliss! my source of joy !”. Then you could prize me dearer than your soul!

Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;

And swear, not wine itself would please, Had not the lip of Love first touch'd the flowing

bowl! Must those sweet days return no more ? Must I for aye your loss deplore, Banish'd your heart, and from your favour driven ?

Ah! no; my fears that smile denies;

That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes Declare me ever dear, and all my faults forgiven. Again beloved, esteemed, caress'd, Cupid shall in thine arms be press’d, Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep :

My torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;

My hand pale winter's rage disarm, And Youth and Spring shall here once more their

revels keep.'—
A feather now of golden hue

He smiling from his pinion drew:
This to the poet's hand the boy commits;

And straight before Anacreon's eyes

The fairest dreams of fancy rise, And round his favour'd head wild inspiration flits.

His bosom glows with amorous fire ;

Eager he grasps the magic lyre; Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move :

The feather pluck'd from Cupid's wing

Sweeps the too long neglected string, (Love. While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of

Soon as that name was heard, the woods

Shook off their snows; the melting floods Broke their cold chains, and winter fled away.

Once more the earth was deck'd with flowers; Mild zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; High tower'd the glorious sun, and poured the

blaze of day.
Attracted by the harmonious sound,

Sylvans and fauns the cot surround,
And curious crowd the minstrel to behold :

The woodnymphs haste the spell to prove;

Eager they run; they list, they love, And, while they hear the strain, forget the man

[is old. Cupid, to nothing constant long,

Perch'd on the harp attends the song, Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes :

Now on the poet's breast reposes,

Now twines his hoary locks with roses, Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.

Then thus Anacreon- I no more

At other shrines my vows will pour, Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire :

From Phoebus or the blue-eyed maid

Now shall my verse request no aid, For Love alone shall be the patron of my lyre.

• In lofty strain, of earlier days,

I spread the king's or hero's praise,
And struck the martial chords with epic fire :

But farewell, hero! farewell, king !

Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, For Love alone shall be the subject of my lyre.'

M. G. LEWIS.

LOVE AT SALE.

COME buy my ware! come buy! come buy!

Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh; I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.

Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!

Though mild his looks, his arrows fear; Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.

He in this little form unites
The pangs of hell and heaven's delights;

He reigns the lord of every mortal heart:

He wounds the peasant, wounds the king,

And is the fairest, falsest thing
That e'er excited joy, or bade a bosom smart.

Light as the wind, wild as the wave,

He's both a tyrant and a slave;
A fire that freezes and a frost that's hot;

A bitter sweet, and luscious sour!-

Wretched is he who knows his power, Yet far more wretched still is he who knows it not.

His tongue is with persuasion tipp'd;

His darts, in poison'd honey dipp’d,
Speed to the bosom their unerring flight;

His lips are rich in flattering lies,
And oft a fillet o'er his eyes

[sight. He binds, and so conceals his faults from his own

He has two cheeks of blushing red;

He has two wings which still are spread, When most his stay is wish’d, most swift to fly:

He joys in wanton tricks and wiles,

And mark! that when he sweetest smiles, Then is the rogue most sure those tricks and wiles

to try.

For well, alas! too well I know,

He is the source of every woe,
To faith a stranger, 'gainst contrition steel'd;

But yet when first the false one came,

And kindled in my heart a flame, Who had believed deceit in such a form conceal'd!

He begged so gently on my breast
Awhile his little head to rest!

He seem'd so good, so grateful, and so meek!

He said, “ he long had sought around

A resting place—but none had found! And then I saw a tear pearl down his rosy cheek.

Who could, unmoved, his accents hear?

Who had not wiped away that tear? His tale of guile my ready ear believed;

He look'd so sweet, he spoke so fair,

With ease the traitor gain'd his prayer, And in my heart of hearts with transport was

received.

But since I find his friends most true

Have reason most his spite to rue, I'll take dear-bought Conviction’s sage advice,

And drive him from my breast away:

He shall no more my trust betray, But be the slave of him who bids the highest price.

Observe, whoe'er shall buy this boy,

This offspring of Despair and Joy,
May have besides (I've use for them no more)

A lot of jealous doubts and fears,

Of fainting Virtue's last pure tears,
Of treacherous smiles, and oaths which perjured

lovers swore:
Of torches, their unsteady fires

Kindled by sweet fifteen's desires;
Of hopes created by a guileful sigh ;

Of worn out wings; of broken darts,

Whose points still rankle in the hearts Of fond forsaken maids! Come buy! come buy!

come buy!

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