Perchance some other friends to find, Haply the little simple page, Which votive thus I've traced for thee, And steal a moment's thought for me. But oh! in pity let not those Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, For, trust me, they who never melt But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, Tell him,—or, oh! if, gentler still, So sweetly as in woman's breast?— Tell her, that he whose loving themes That Glory oft would claim the lay, And Friendship oft his numbers move; His sweetest song was given to LOVE!" TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL MISS IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARE, IMPROMPTU. -Ego pars.-Virg. IN wedlock a species of lottery lies, Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, To me such a ticket should roll, A sixteenth, Heaven knows! were sufficient for me; INCONSTANCY. AND do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, When surely there's nothing in nature more common? She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me— But could I expect any more from a woman? O woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure; And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, When he thought you were only materials of pleasure, And reason and thinking were out of your sphere. By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid; But, oh! while he's blest, let him die on the minuteIf he live but a day, he'll be surely betrayed. IMITATION OF CATULLUS. TO HIMSELF. Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, &c. Nor vainly think those joys thine own In what she loved so dear before; And all Catullus now can do Is to be proud and frigid too; Nor follow where the wanton flies, Nor sue the bliss that she denies. False maid! he bids farewell to thee, Nor will he court one favour more; Fly, perjured girl!--but whither fly? TO JULIA. THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part, But must we, must we part indeed? To leave so dear, so fond a lover? If Julia's heart like mine is beating? I oft have loved the brilliant glow Of rapture in her blue eye streamingBut can the bosom bleed with woe, While joy is in the glances beaming? No, no!-Yet, love, I will not chide, Although your heart were fond of roving: Nor that, nor all the world beside, Could keep your faithful boy from loving. You'll soon be distant from his eye, And, with you, all that's worth possessing. Oh! then it will be sweet to die, When life has lost its only blessing! NATURE'S LABELS. A FRAGMENT. IN vain we fondly strive to trace The soul's reflection in the face; In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; Boobies have looked as wise and bright And many a sage and learned skull Has peeped through windows dark and dull! Since then, though art do all it can, There we might read of all-But stay- The argument most apt and ample, LABEL FIRST. Within this vase there lies enshrined The purest, brightest gem of mind! Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw Upon its charms the shade of woe, The lustre of the gem, when veiled, Shall be but mellowed, not concealed. Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, That Nature wrote a second label; They're her own words-at least suppose soAnd boldly pin it on Pomposo. LABEL SECOND. When I composed the fustian brain TO MRS. M SWEET lady! look not thus again › Oh! while this heart delirious took She was the sweetest, best deceiver ! Of her whose smile could thus betray. Alas! I think the lovely wile Again might steal my heart away. And when the spell that stole my mind TO JULIA. Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream, I've heard you oft eternal truth declare; Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air! And must I say, my hopes were all deceived! Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal : Julia! 'tis pity, pity makes you kind; You know I love, and you would seem to feel. But shall I still go revel in those arms On bliss in which affection takes no part? TO ROSA. DOES the harp of Rosa slumber? Once it breathed the sweetest number! Never does a wilder song Steal the breezy lyre along, When the wind, in odours dying, Wooes it with enamoured sighing. Does the harp of Rosa cease? Once it told a tale of peace H |