It is to quench thy joy in tears,

To nurfe ftrange doubts and groundless fears; If pangs of jealousy thou haft not prov'd, "Tho' fhe were fonder and more true Than any nymph old poets drew, Oh never dream again that thou haft lov’d.

If when the darling maid is gone,
Thou doft not feek to be alone,
Wrapt in a pleafing trance of tender woe;
And mufe, and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou doft not love, for love is nourifh'd fo.

If any hopes thy bofom share

But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breaft enthrall,
Thou never yet his power haft known;
Love fits on a defpotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all.

Now if thou art fo loft a thing,

Here all thy tender forrows bring,

And prove whofe patience longeft can endure;

We'll

We'll ftrive whose fancy fhall be loft

In dreams of fondeft paffion moft,

For if thou thus haft lov'd, oh! never hope a cure.

MRS. BARBAULD.

F ever thou didst joy to bind

I'

Two hearts in equal paffion join'd,

O fon of Venus! hear me now,
And bid FLORELLA blefs my Vow.

If any blifs referv'd for me

Thou in the leaves of fate fhould'ft fee,

If any white propitious hour,
Pregnant with hoarded joys in ftore;

Now, now the mighty treasure give,
In her for whom alone I live;
In fterling love pay all the fum,
And I'll abfolve the fates to come.

In all the pride of full-blown charms
Yield her, relenting, to my arms;
Her bofom touch with foft defires,
And let her feel what fhe infpires.

But, Cupid, if thine aid be vain
The dear reluctant maid to gain,
If ftill with cold averted eyes

She dafh my hopes, and fcorn my fighs;

O! grant ('tis all I ask of thee)
That I no more may change than fhe;
But ftill with duteous zeal love on,
When every gleam of hope is gone.

Leave me then alone to languifh,
Think not time can heal my anguish,
Pity the woes which I endure,

But never, never grant a cure.

MRS. BARBAULD.

S near a weeping spring reclin'd, The beauteous ARAMINTA pin'd, And mourn'd a falfe ungrateful youth; While dying echoes caught the found, And spread the foft complaints around Of broken vows and alter'd truth;

A The beauteous

An aged fhepherd heard her moan,
And thus in pity's kindest tone
Addrefs'd the loft defpairing maid;
Ceafe, ceafe, unhappy fair, to grieve,

For founds, tho' sweet, can ne'er relieve

A breaking heart by love betray'd.

Why shouldst thou wafte fuch precious showers,
That fall like dew on wither'd flowers,

But dying paffion ne'er reftor'd;

In beauty's empire is no mean,
And woman, either flave or queen,
Is quickly fcorn'd when not ador❜d.

Thofe

Thofe liquid pearls from either eye,
Which might an eastern empire buy,
Unvalued here and fruitless fall;
No-art the feafon can renew

When love was young, and DAMON true,
No tears a wandering heart recall.

Ceafe, ceafe to grieve, thy tears are vain,
Should thofe fair orbs in drops of rain
Vie with a weeping fouthern fky;
For hearts o'ercome with love and grief
All nature yields but one relief;

Die, hapless ARAMINTA, die.

MRS. BARBAULË,

T

OO plain, dear youth, thefe tell-tale eyes

My heart your own declare ;

But for heaven's fake let it fuffice

You reign triumphant there.