What flames my nerves invade Venus round Fanny's waist Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all but me May heaven and she refuse. EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. TO DELIA. DRIED be that tear, my gentlest love, Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear, Dost ask how long my vows shall stay Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, And does that thought affect thee too, Must yield that faithful breath? SHERIDAN. SONG. IN THE STRANGER.' I HAVE a silent sorrow here, This cherish'd woe, this loved despair, My lot for ever be; So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear And when pale characters of death I will not raise my eyes to Heaven, My soul despairs to be forgiven, SHERIDAN. IN PITY, FOND BOSOM, LIE STILL. YES, now I shall think of that heart-broken maid Whom in days of my childhood I knew; All night she would weep in the cold willow shade, And her tears mingle warm with the dew! I have heard her exclaim, as she sadly reclined 'Mid the willows all dripping and chill, I have heard her exclaim while she shrunk in "In pity, fond bosom, lie still!' [the wind, The youth whom she loved had been torn from By a fate too severely unkind, [her arms Thus wither'd, alas! was the rose of her charms, And clouded the beams of her mind! Sweet mourner! thy fortunes may haply be mine, T. MOORE. TO HENRY. WHILE I hang on your bosom, distracted to lose you, [flow, High swells my sad heart, and fast my tears Yet think not of coldness they fall to accuse you, Did I ever upbraid you? Oh! no, my love, no! I own it would please me, at home would you Nor e'er feel a wish from Maria to go; [tarry, But if it gives pleasure to you, my dear Harry, Shall I blame your departure? Oh! no, my love, no! VOL. III. L L Now do not, dear Hal, while abroad you are straying, That heart which is mine on a rival bestow; Nay, banish that frown, such displeasure betray ing, [no! Do you think I suspect you? Oh! no, my love, I believe you too kind for one moment to grieve me, Or plant in a heart which adores you such woe; Yet should you dishonour my truth and deceive [love, no! Should I e'er cease to love you? Oh! no, my me, M. G. LEWIS. SONG. I DANCED With Harriet at the fair, But why I praised her, sweet one, know, The tresses negligently flow About the cheeks of Anne. One evening in the passion week, When Lucy play'd at hide and seek, Her black eyes shone like glowworms bright, And led me by their sparkling light To find out where she ran; But if I praised them, sweet one, know, I recollected, even so The black eyes sparkle, burn, and glow Louisa's lips in kisses meet, Like a twin cherry ripe and sweet; In Catherine's breath rich perfume dwells; To charm the gaze of man! Yet if I praise them, sweet one, know, All blent in mistress Anne. LEFTLY. SONG. SWEET is the balmy evening hour, I love to loiter on the hill, And catch each trembling ray ;Fair as they are, they mind me still Of fairer things than they. What is the breath of closing flowers But Feeling's gentlest sigh? What are the dew-drops' crystal showers But tears from Pity's eye? What are the glowworms by the rill I love them, for they mind me still Of one more dear than they. MISS MITFORD. |