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But if thou wilt in darkness lurk,

And thy weak fage fulfil;
Take thy revenge on thy poor self,

And write bad satire still.


Gentle mother chide no longer,

Touch not rough a tender flower, , In its bloom untimely fading,

Crush'd by sorrow's heavy show'r.

Have you on the same occasion,

Never with your duty strove; Could

you never hear persuasion Dropping from the lip of love?

Had you seen the lovely stranger,

And had been so sweetly bid;
You had lost all thought of danger,
And lov'd him more than Mira did.

English Chronicle. FIELDS OF FONTENAY.

Farewell fields of Fontenay,
Where I first beheld the day!
Soon to close my aged eye,
Soon to join my ancestry;
When I seek their lowly cell,
Fields of Fontenay, farewell.
When the muse that wak’d my lyre,
Sees the breath she tun'd expire;
When the groves that wont to wave
O'er my slumbers, shade my grave;
Where I once enjoy'd the day,
Farewell fields of Fontenay!



Says Damon to his sprightly girl

To me this prayer be given, To live with thee, angelic fair

I ask no more of heaven.

An higher boon thy Silvia craves,
Cries she with roguish eye,
With Damon not content to live,
I wish with him to die.

English Chronicle.



Chloe, I vow sincerely

All to be vow'd by man,
I'll love you dearly, dearly,

As long—as love I can.

You men when most you're kind,

Still for a change will plead;
And to love's feast we find,

A tedious fast succeed.

But this I vow sincerely,

That should it so befall;
You cease to love me dearly,
Why then, another shall.

English Chronicle.


Tae sweet deceiver hope destroys,
By airy visions, real joys;
Each future scene by her array'd
In brightness, makes the present fade;
All the long day we wish for night,
Then sigh for the return of light.

Through gloomy winter's reign we mourn
Till pleasure-pinion'd spring's return ;
But here, with joyless feet, we tread
The verdant lawn, or painted mead,
Till summer comes--yet ev'n from this
Enjoyment's fled; the promis'd bliss
Is now postpon'd, till autumn shews
Her golden fields and loaded boughs :
Hither we press—but vain the chace !
The phantom flies with equal pace:
Now winter charms—again it comes,
And her still tasteless reign resumes ;
The trav'ller thus, thick mists inclose,
But seem to fly where'er he goes.

Unitersal Magazine.


Lo! my fair the morning lazy,

Peeps abroad from yonder hill;
Phæbus rises red and hazy,

Frost has stopp'd the village mill.

All around looks sad and dreary ;

Fast the flaky snow descends:
Yet the red-breasts chirrup eheery,

While the mitten'd lass attends,

Rise the winds, and rocks the cottage,

Thaws the roof and wets the path ;
Dorcas cooks the sav'ry pottage,

Smokes the cake upon the hearth.

April. Sunshine intermits with ardour,

Shades fly swiftly o'er the fields ; Show'rs revive the drooping verdure,

Sweets the sunny uplands yields.

Pearly beams the eye of morning, ,

Child ! forbear the deed unbless'd!
Hawthorn ev'ry hedge adorning,

Pluck the flow'r but spare the nest.

School-hoys in the brooks disporting,

Spend the sultry hour of play ;
While the nymphs and swains are courting,

Seated on the new made hay.

Maids with each a guardian lover,

While the vivid lightning flies;
Hastning to the nearest cover,

Clap their hands before their eyes.

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