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ANONYMOUS.

FROM THE ANNUAL REGISTER FOR 1774.

VERSES.

Copied from the window of an obscure lodging-house, in the

neighbourhood of London.

Stranger! whoe'er thou art, whose restless mind,
Like me within these walls is cribb’d, confined;
Learn how each want that heaves our mutual sigh
A woman's soft solicitudes supply.
From her white breast retreat all rude alarmas,
Or fly the magic circle of her arms;
While souls exchanged alternate grace acquire,
And passions catch from passions glorious fire:
What though to deck this roof no arts combine,
Such forms as rival every fair but mine;
No nodding plumes, our humble couch above,
Proclaim each triumph of unbounded love;
No silver lamp with sculptur’d Cupids gay,
O'er yielding beauty pours its midnight ray;
Yet Fanny's charms could Time's slow flight beguile,
Soothe every care, and make each dungeon smile:
In her, what kings, what saints have wish’d, is given,
Her heart is empire, and her love is heaven.

EDWARD LOVIBOND.

BORN

DIED 1775.

EDWARD LOVIBOND was a gentleman of fortune, who lived at Hampton, in Middlesex, where he chiefly amused himself with the occupations of rural economy. According to the information of Mr. Chalmers, he was a director of the East India Company. He assisted Moore in his periodical paper called the 66 World,” to which he contributed “ The Tears of Old May-Day," and four other papers,

THE TEARS OF OLD MAY-DAY.

WRITTEN ON THE REFORMATION OF THE CALENDAR.

LED by the jocund train of vernal hours

And vernal airs, up rose the gentle May; Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flow'rs

That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray.

Her locks with heaven's ambrosial dews were bright,

And am'rous zephyrs flutter'd on her breast: With ev'ry shifting gleam of morning light,

The colours shifted of her rainbow vest.

Imperial ensigns grac'd her smiling form,

A golden key and golden wand she bore; This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm,

And that unlocks the summer's copious store.

Onward in conscious majesty she came,

The grateful honours of mankind to taste : To gather fairest wreaths of future fame,

And blend fresh triumphs with her glories past.

Vain hope! no more in choral bands unite

Her virgin vot'ries, and at early dawn, Sacred to May and love's mysterious rite,

Brush the light dew-drops from the spangled lawn.

To her no more Augusta's wealthy pride

Pours the full tribute from Potosi's mine: Nor fresh-blown garlands village maids provide,

A purer off'ring at her rustic shrine.

No more the Maypole's verdant height around

To valour's games th' ambitious youth advance; No merry bells and tabor's sprightlier sound

Wake the loud carol, and the sportive dance.

Sudden in pensive sadness droop'd her head,

Faint on her cheeks the blushing crimson died“O! chaste victorious triumphs, whither fled?

“ My maiden honours, whither gone?" she cried. Ah! once to fame and bright dominion born,

The earth and smiling ocean saw me rise, With time coeval and the star of morn,

The first, the fairest daughter of the skies.

Then, when at heav'n's prolific mandate sprung

The radiant beam of new-created day, Celestial harps, to airs of triumph strung,

Hail'd the glad dawn, and angels call'd me May.

Space in her empty regions heard the sound,

And hills, and dales, and rocks, and valleys rung; The sun exulted in his glorious round,

And shouting planets in their courses sung.

For ever then I led the constant year;

Saw youth, and joy, and love's enchanting wiles; Saw the mild graces in my train appear,

And infant beauty brighten in my smiles.

No Winter frown'd. In sweet embrace allied,

Three sister seasons danc'd th' eternal green; And Spring's retiring softness gently vied

With Autumn's blush, and Summer's lofty mien.

Too soon, when man profan'd the blessings giv'n,

And vengeance arm'd to blot a guilty age, With bright Astrea to my native heav'n

I fled, and flying saw the deluge rage;

Saw bursting clouds eclipse the noontide beams,

While sounding billows from the mountains rollid, With bitter waves polluting all my streams,

My nectar'd streams, that flow'd on sands of gold.

Then vanish'd many a sea-girt isle and grove,

Their forests floating on the wat’ry plain : Then, fam'd for arts and laws deriv'd from Jove,

My Atalantis sunk beneath the main.

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No longer bloom'd primæval Eden's bow'rs,

Nor guardian dragons watch'd th’Hesperian steep: With all their fountains, fragrant fruits and flow'rs, ,

Torn from the continent to glut the deep.

No more to dwell in sylvan scenes I deign'd,

Yet oft descending to the languid earth,
With quick’ning pow'rs the fainting mass sustain’d,

And wak'd her slumbʼring atoms into birth.

And ev'ry echo taught my raptur'd name,

And ev'ry virgin breath'd her am'rous vows, And precious wreaths of rich immortal fame,

Show'r'd by the Musés, crown'd my lofty brows.

But chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride,

My Albion's favour'd realms, I rose ador'd; And pour'd my wealth, to other climes denied ;

From Amalthea's horn with plenty stor'd.

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