IT was but a moment! 'twas but like a dream!
Of her musical voice I but just heard the sound; And but just of her dark tender eyes caught the beam, As they smilingly roved o'er the landscape around. Yet, tho' brief was the moment, 'twas fatal to me, For that moment the peace of my bosom destroy'd: Now in feverish slumbers her image I see,
And, waking, my soul feels a sorrowful void.
Thus, when Summer the pride of her beauty displays, From the gathering clouds dart their arrowy fires; And the victim scarce views the sulphureous blaze, Scarcely breathes out a sigh, ere he falls and expires!
THE WAY TO DISCOVER LOVE.
LESBIA rails, without ceasing, at me the whole day, And yet hang me, if Lesbia don't love me sincerely 'How d' you know it?' you cry-Why, 'tis just my
Though I rail without ceasing, I still love her dearly!
LETHE'S dark oblivious wave
Where, O where, didst thou discover?
Ere he languish to the grave,
Tell thy lost, deserted lover!
Yet, in vain a boon like this
Wouldst thou give, should Pity let thee:
He who once has known thy kiss
Perish must, ere he forget thee.
Lo! where the bee from yonder rose,
Fill'd with sweet plunder, flies;
Yet still the flower as warmly glows,
As rich its odours rise.
So, dearest, by my ardent kiss
Thy charms unchanged we see ;
Then frown not, since my honied bliss
Has nothing stolen from thee.
MADAME DE MIREPOIX TO THE DUC DE NIVERNCIS, with a Lock of her Hair.
LOOK, they are grey-but, turn'd to grey,
These locks our union's date attest;
Poor spoil that age can bear away,
But leaves me yet in friendship blest.
No change in friendship's star appears,
Whose lustre, as in early prime,
Flames in the winter of our years,
Kindled by choice, and fed by time.
No more the world our flame reproving,
Will force our bosoms to repress it;
Grey hairs, beside the charm of loving,
Allow the freedom to confess it.
ANSWER OF THE DUC DE NIVERNOIS.
TALK not of snowy locks-have done-
Time runs the same, and let him run-
To us what bodes the tyrant's rage?
He knows not tender hearts to sever,
The little Loves are infants ever;
The Graces are of every age.
To thee, Themira, when I bow,
For ever in my spring I glow,
And more in years approve thee.
Could I to gay eighteen return,
With longer ardour I might burn,
But dearer could not love thee.
THE ORIGIN OF THE PEN.
LOVE begg'd and pray'd old Time to stay,
While he and Pysche toy'd together;
Love held his wings-Time tore away,
But in the scuffle dropp'd a feather.
Love seized the prize, and with his dart
Adroitly work'd to trim and shape it-
'O, Psyche! though 'tis pain to part,
This charm shall make us half escape it.
Time need not fear to fly too slow,
When he this useful loss discovers;
A pen's the only plume I know,
That wings his pace for absent lovers.'
TULIPS AND ROSES.
MY Rosa, from the latticed grove,
Brought me a sweet bouquet of posies,
And ask'd, as round my neck she clung,
If tulips I preferr'd to roses?
'I cannot tell, sweet wife,' I sigh'd,
'But kiss me ere I see the posies :'
She did, 'Oh, I prefer,' I cried,
Thy two lips to a dozen roses.'
TO A LADY, WHO LAMENTED SHE COULD NOT SING.
'OH, give to Lydia, ye blest Powers!' I cried,
A voice! the only gift ye have denied.'-
'A voice!' says Venus, with a laughing air,
A voice! strange object of a lover's prayer!
Say-shall your chosen fair resemble most
Yon Philomel, whose voice is all her boast;
Or, curtain'd round with leaves, yon mournful dove,
That hoarsely murmurs to the conscious grove?'
Still more unlike,' said I, 'be Lydia's note,
The pleasing tone of Philomela's throat,
So, to the hoarseness of the murmuring dove,
She joins ('tis all I ask) the turtle's love!'
OH, how soft beam your eyes! Oh, how tender their gaze!
If I dare to believe them, you love me most dearly:
But does your heart feel what I learn from their rays!
Oh, tell me, dear youth, are they speaking sincerely?
If you love not, alas! with my peace do not play;
To allure me, no longer thus cruelly seek :
And if then your heart has got nothing to say,
Oh, let not your eyes with such eloquence speak.
O TELL me not, with groundless fear,
That, bending to some other beauty,
I may forget you once were dear,
And vow to her my tender duty.
No, loveliest! no; for though the youth
Who sees thy charms may break for ever
All former vows of plighted truth,
Faithless again shall he be never.
PERMITTED, unreproved, to gaze,
My favour'd rival idly strays :—
O bless, whene'er thou wilt, my sight,
This breast will beat with pure delight!
If he, who feels the tropic sun,
Repairs to shade the warmth to shun,
The dweller on the polar shores
Ne'er sees him shine but he adores.
SIGHS, and looks, and soft attentions,
Well a tender flame reveal;
He who least his passion mentions,
Oft is found the most to feel.
Though from his lips the fair one hears
No word his wishes to discover,
Yet he who serves, and perseveres,
Plainly proves himself a lover.
TO A MIRROR.
From the Spanish.
SINCE still my passion-pleading strains
Have fail'd her heart to move,
Show, mirror, to that lovely maid,
The charms that made me love.
Reflect on her the thrilling beam
Of magic from her eye,
So, like Narcissus, she shall gaze,
And self-enamour'd die.
So much I press'd, so much I pray'd,
From Laura's lips I gain'd a kiss;
But swift as lightning through the shade,
So swiftly fled my bliss.
O Love! thou hast not done me right!
Had justice in thy mind a place,
Thou hadst not destined my delight
To live so brief a space.
As long a time as I had press'd
To gain the dear delicious treasure,
So long, O Love! to make me blest,
Should I have felt the pleasure.
Copied from the Window of an obscure Lodging in Islington.
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 sighs, A woman's soft solicitude supplies :
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