With this, and a little of love to madden us, Dear creatures! we can't live without them, They're all that is sweet and seducing to man! Looking, sighing about and about them, We dote on them, die for them, all that we can. Here's Phillis!-whose innocent bosom Is always agog for some novel desires; To-day to get lovers, to-morrow to lose 'em, Is all that the innocent Phillis requires.Here's to the gay little Jessy!-who simpers So vastly good-humour'd whatever is done; She'll kiss you, and that without whining or whimpers, And do what you please with you-all out of fun! Dear creatures, etc. A bumper to Fanny!-I know you will scorn her, You'd she's the best little girl in the world!say Another to Lyddy!-still struggling with duty, And asking her conscience still, whether she should; While her eyes, in the silent confession of beauty, Say, Only for something I certainly would! Dear creatures, etc. Fill for Chloe!-bewitchingly simple, Who angles the heart without knowing her lure; Still wounding around with a blush or a dimple, Nor seeming to feel that she also could cure!— Here's pious Susan!- the saint, who alone, sir, Could ever have made me religious outright: For had I such a dear little saint of my own, sir, I'd pray on my knees to her half the long night! Dear creatures, etc. COME tell me where the aid is found Oh! tell me where's her sainted home, What air receives her blessed sigh; A pilgrimage of years I'll roam To catch one sparkle of her eye! And, if her cheek be rosy bright, Show me on earth a thing so rare, SONG. 1 SWEETEST love! I'll not forget thee, Time shall only teach my heart, Fonder, warmer, to regret thee, Lovely, gentle as thou art! Farewell, Bessy! Yet, oh! yet again we 'll meet, love, Farewell, Bessy! Yes, my girl, the distant blessing Still I feel my heart is breaking, When I think I stray from thee, Round the world that quiet seeking, Which I fear is not for me!Farewell, Bessy! Calm to peace thy lover's bosom- SONG. IF I swear by that eye, you'll allow Those babies that nestle so sly Such different arrows have got, Should I swear by the dew on your lip, I may kiss off the oath when I chuse! Or a sigh nay disperse from that flower But clear up that heaven of your brow, JULIA'S KISS. WHEN infant Bliss in roses slept, Cupid upon his slumber crept; All these songs were adapted to airs which Mr Little composed, and sometimes sang, for his friends: this may account for the peculiarity of metre observable in many of them.-E. 255 And, while a balmy sigh he stole, Nay, more; he stole to Venus' bed, In slumber now was acting o'er, From her ripe lips, which seem'd to thrill And amorous to each other clung, No, no! that heart is only mine, By ties all other ties above, For I have wed it at a shrine Where we have had no priest but Love! SONG. FLY from the world, O Bessy! to me, Thou 'It never find any sincerer; When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet, Ilave we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet?- So innocent, love! is the pleasure we sip, That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven!» SONG. THINK on that look of humid ray, Think, think on every smile and glance, And tell me 't is not sin to love! Oh! not to love thee were the sin; For sure, if Heaven's decrees be done, Thou, thou art destined still to win, As I was destined to be won! SONG. A CAPTIVE thus to thee, my girl, love! When Death shall envy joy like this, And come to shade our sunny weather, Be our last sigh the sigh of bliss, THE CATALOGUE. COME, tell me, says Rosa, as, kissing and kiss'd, One day she reclined on my breast; Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list Of the nymphs you have loved and caress'd.. Oh, Rosa! 't was only my fancy that roved, My heart at the moment was free; But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved! And the number shall finish with thee! My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild She taught me the way to be blest; She taught me to love her, I loved like a child, I have never forgot, I allow; I have had it by rote very often before, Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame, And she laugh'd at her poor little knight; My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books, Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me, And the worst of it was, we could never agree I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, How oft I've languish'd by thy side, And while my heart's luxuriant tide I've waked such sweetly-maddening strains, My soul was blended with my lyre! Yes, I indeed remember well Those hours of pleasure past and o'er; SONG. WHERE is the nymph, whose azure eye Can shine through rapture's tear? The sun has sunk, the moon is high, And yet she comes not here! Was that her footstep on the hill- Come to me, love, I've wander'd far, 'Tis past the promised hour: Come to me, love, the twilight star Shall guide thee to my bower. A FRAGMENT. "Tis night, the spectred hour is nigh! And seems to mourn for pleasures past! SONG. WHEN Time, who steals our years away, Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower Shall feel the wintry air, Remembrance will recal the hour When thou alone wert fair! Then talk no more of future gloom; Our joys shall always last; For hope shall brighten days to come, And memory gild the past. Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, I drink to love and thee: Thou never canst decay in soul, Thou 'It still be young for me. And, as thy lips the tear-drop chase Which on my cheek they find, So hope shall steal away the trace Which sorrow leaves behind! Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! Our joys shall always last; For hope shall brighten days to come, But mark, at thought of future years How like this bowl of wine, my fair, Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! Our joys shall always last; For hope will brighten days to come, And memory gild the past! THE SHRINE. ΤΟ My fates had destined me to rove With them would be profane indeed! I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last! REUBEN AND ROSE. A TALE OF ROMANCE. THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls Has long been remember'd with awe and dismay! For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day. Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam, stream Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse?« Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave! And who was the bright star of chivalry then? Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age? For Reuben was first in the combat of men, Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page. For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat, She flew to the wizard-And tell me, oh tell! Twice, thrice he repeated, Your Reuben shall rise!» And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; She wiped, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes, And she hoped she might yet see her hero again! Her hero could smile at the terrors of death, When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose! To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath, In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.— How strangely the order of destiny falls! Not long in the waters the warrior lay, When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray! All, all but the soul of the maid was in light, There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love on the wide river's bank. Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, And she heard but the breathings of night in the air; Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, And she saw but the foam of the white billow there. And often as midnight its veil would undraw, As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 't was his helmet of silver she saw, As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam. And now the third night was begemming the sky, Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, When,-hark!-'t was the bell that came deep in the wind! She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade, Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold?— I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I rather hopethough the manner of it leads me to doubt-that his design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa miracula of true poetic imagination. I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this story in a German suibor, FROMANN upon Fascination, book iii, part. vi, ch. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromann quotes it from Belnacensis, among many o her stories equally diabolical and interesting.-E. He went unto the feast, and much He thought upon his ring; And much he wonder'd what could mean So very strange a thing! The feast was o'er, and to the court But mark a stranger wonder still— He search'd the base, and all the court, With sore bewilder'd mind. Within he found them all in mirth, The night in dancing flew; The youth another ring procured, And none the adventure knew. And now the priest has join'd their hands, The hours of love advance! Rupert almost forgets to think Upon the morn's mischance. Within the bed fair Isabel In blushing sweetness lay, Like flowers half-open'd by the dawn, And waiting for the day. And Rupert, by her lovely side, In youthful beauty glows, Like Phœbus, when he bends to cast And here my song should leave them both, But for the horrid, horrid tale |