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But see !—the bent topsails are ready to swellTo the boat-I am with thee-Columbia, farewell !

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TO LADY H,
VAN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS.

Tunbridge-Wells, August 1805.
WHEN Grammont graced these happy springs,

And Tunbridge saw, upon her pantiles, The merriest wight of all the kings

That ever ruled these gay gallant isles;
Like us, by day, they rode, they walked,

At eve they did as we may do,
And Grammont just like Spencer talked,

And lovely Stewart smiled like you !
The only different trait is this,

That woman then, if man beset her, Was rather given to saying “yes,"

Because as yet she knew no better! Each night they held a coterie,

Where every fear to slumber charmed, Lovers were all they ought to be,

And husbands not the least alarmed ! They called up all their school-day pranks,

Nor thought it much their sense beneath To play at riddles, quips, and cranks,

And lords showed wit, and ladies teeth. As—“Why are husbands like the Mint?”

Because, forsooth, a husband's duty Is just to set the name and print

That give a currency to beauty. “Why is a garden's wildered maze

Like a young widow, fresh and fair ?" Because it wants some hand to raise

The weeds which have no business there!” And thus they missed, and thus they hit,

And now they struck, and now they parried, And some lay in of full-grown wit,

While others of a pun miscarried. 'Twas one of those facetious nights

That Grammont gave this forfeit ring For breaking grave conundrum rites,

Or punning ill, or--some such thing.

66

!

From whence it can be fairly traced

Through many a branch and many a bough, From twig to twig, until it graced

The snowy hand that wears it now. All this I'll prove, and then-to you,

O Tunbridge ! and your springs ironical, I swear by Heathcote's eye of blue,

To dedicate th' important chronicle. Long may your ancient inmates give

Their mantles to your modern lodgers, And Charles's love in Heathcote live,

And Charles's bards revive in Rogers ! Let no pedantic fools be there,

For ever be those sops abolished, With heads as wooden as thy ware,

And, Heaven knows! not half s', poiished. But still receive the mild, the gay,

The few who know the rare delight Of reading Grammont every day,

And acting Grammont every night !

TO

Never mind how the pedagogue proses,

You want not antiquity's stamp, The lip that's so scented by roses

Oh! never must smell of the lamp. Old Chloe, whose withering kisses

Have long set the loves at defiance,
Now, done with the science of blisses,

May fly to the blisses of science !
Young Sappho, for want of employments,

Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
Condemned but to read of enjoyments

Which wiser Corinna had felt.

But for you to be buried in books

O Fanny! they're pitiful sages, Who could not in one of your looks

Read more than in millions of pages! Astronomy finds in your eye

Better light than she studies above, And Music must borrow your sigh

As the melody dearest to love.

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In Ethics—'tis you that can check,

In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels ; Oh! show but that mole on your neck,

And 'twill soon put an end to their morals. Your Arithmetic only can trip

When to kiss and to count you endeavour ; But Eloquence glows on your lip

When you swear that you'll love me for ever.
Thus you see what a brilliant alliance

Of arts is assembled in you-
A course of more exquisite science

Man never need wish to go through!
And oh! if a fellow like me

May confer a diploma of hearts,
With my lip thus I seal your degree,

My divine little Mistress of Arts !

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SONG
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,

And repose our hearts at last :
Oh! sure 'twill then be sweet, love,
Calm to think on sorrows past.

Farewell, Bessy!
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-

Can it, dearest! must it be?
Thou within an hour shalt lose him.
He for ever loses thee !

Farewell, Bessy!

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DID NOT.
'Twas a new feeling—something mors
Than we had dared to own before,

Which then we hid not ;
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wished, in every half-breathed sigh,

To speak, but did not.
She felt my lips' impassioned touch ;
'Twas the first time I dared so much,

And yet she chid not ;
But whispered o'er my burning brow,
“Oh! do you doubt I love you now?"

Sweet soul ! I did not.

AT NIGHT.*
At night, when all is still around,
How sweet to hear the distant sourd

Of footstep, coming soft and light !
What pleasure in the anxious beat
With which the bosom flies to meet

That foot that comes so soft at night!
And then, at night, how sweet to say
'Tis late, my love !” and chide delay,

Though still the western clouds are bright;
Oh ! happy, too, the silent press,
The eloquence of mute caress,

With those we love exchanged at night!

DEAR FANNY.
“She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool;

She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so :"
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool,
And 'tis not the first time I have thought so;

Dear Fanny,
'Tis not the first time I have thought so.
“ She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly;

'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season :"
Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny
That Love reasons much better than Reason?

Dear Fanny,
Love reasons much better than Reason.

HERE'S THE BOWER.
Here's the bower she loved so much,

And the tree she planted :
Here's the harp she used to touch-

Oh how that touch enchanted !

* These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a Cupid, with the words "At Night" written over him.

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I saw the moon rise clear

O'er hills and vales of snow
Nor told my fleet rein-deer

The track I wished to go.
But quick he bounded forth;

For well my rein-deer knew
I've but one path on earth-

That path which leads to you.
The gloom that winter cast

How soon the heart forgets,
When summer brings, at last,

Her sun that never sets !
So dawned my love for you ;

And chasing every pain,
Than summer sun more true,

'Twill never set again.

a

LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL. YOUNG Love found a Dial once in a dark shade, Where man ne'er had wandered nor sun-beam played ; " Why thus in darkness lie,” whispered young Love; “Thou whose gay hours in sunshine should move?" “I ne'er," said the Dial, “ have seen the warm sun; So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one." Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, And placed her where heaven's beam warmly played. There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye, While, all marked with sunshine, her hours flew by.

Oh how,” said the Dial, “can any fair maid, That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade?”

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