In ev'ry word, a magic spell I found,

Of power to charm each busy thought to rest; Though ev'ry word increased the tender wound Of fond desire, still throbbing in my breast.

So to his hoarded gold, the miser steals,
And loses ev'ry sorrow at the sight:
Yet, wishes still for more; nor ever feels
Entire contentment, or secure delight!

Ah! should I lose thee, my too lovely Maid!
Couldst thou forget thy heart was ever mine!
Fear not thy letters should the change upbraid!
My hand each dear memorial would resign!

Not one kind word shall in my power remain,
A painful witness of reproach to thee!
And, lest my heart should still their sense retain,
My heart shall break, to leave thee wholly free!

A PRAYER TO VENUS,

IN HER TEMPLE AT STOWE.

FAIR VENUS! whose delightful Shrine surveys
Its front reflected in the silver lake,

These humble off'rings, which thy servant pays,
Fresh flowers and myrtle wreaths, propitious take!

If less my love exceeds all other love

Than Lucy's charms all other charms excel; Far from my breast, each soothing hope remove; And there, let sad despair for ever dwell!

But if my soul is filled with her alone,

Nor other wish, nor other object, knows; O, make her, Goddess! make her all my own! And give my trembling heart secure repose! No watchful spies I ask, to guard her charms! No walls of brass! no steel-defended door! Place her but once within my circling arms,

Love's surest fort; and I will doubt no more!

ON HER PLEADING WANT OF TIME.

ON Thames's bank, a gentle Youth
For Lucy sighed, with matchless truth,
E'en when he sighed in rhyme.
The gentle Maid, his flame returned;
And would, with equal warmth have burned;
But that she had not time.

Oft he repaired, with eager feet,
In secret shades his Fair to meet

Beneath th' accustomed lime.

She would have fondly met him there,
And healed with love each tender care;

But that she had not time.

'It was not thus, inconstant Maid!
You acted once,' the Shepherd said,
'When love was in its prime!'

She grieved to hear him thus complain,
And would have writ to ease his pain;
But that she had not time.

'How can you act so cold a part?
No crime of mine has changed your heart;
If love be not a crime!

We soon must part, for months! for years!'
She would have answered with her tears;
But that she had not time!

WHEN I think on your truth; I doubt you no more!
I blame all the fears I gave way to before!
I say to my heart, 'Be at rest; and believe
That whom once she has chosen, she never will leave!'

But, ah! when I think on each ravishing grace
That plays in the smiles of that heavenly face;
My heart beats again! I again apprehend
Some fortunate rival in ev'ry friend!

These painful suspicions, you cannot remove;
Since you neither can lessen your charms, nor my love!
But doubts caused by Passion, you never can blame;
For they are not ill-founded, or you feel the same!

CUPID and VENUS jointly strove
To warm АMINTOR'S heart;
And give him all the joys of Love,
Unmixed with any smart.

VENUS advised, from ev'ry Fair,
To steal the sweetest Grace.
'No! No!' says CUPID, 'ease your care;
They meet in MORDAUNT's face!'

'WHY should those eyes, FLORELLA! wear

A chilling scorn to me;

Yet ardent gaze on one who ne'er

Yet felt a sigh for thee?

'Or why, if you are not decreed
To ease another's pain,

Am I not of my Passion freed;
Or you, of your disdain?'

'Forbear, fond Youth!' FLORELLA said, 'And blame not me; but Fate! You're doomed, alas! (by her betrayed!) To love! and I to hate!'

TO CHLOE.

WRITTEN ON MY BIRTHDAY, 1734.

THE minutes, the hours, the days, and the years,
That fill up the current of Time,
Neither flowing with hope, neither ebbing with fears,
Unheeded rolled on to my prime.

In Infancy prattling, in Youth full of play,
Still pleased with whatever was new;
I bade the old Cripple fly swifter away,
To o'ertake some gay trifle in view!

But when CHLOE, with sweetness and sense in her First taught me the lesson of Love; [look, Then, I counted each step the winged Fugitive took; And bade him more leisurely move!

'Stop, Runaway! stop! nor thy journey pursue;
For CHLOE has gi'en me her heart!
To enjoy it, thy years will prove many too few!
If you make so much haste to depart.'

Still, still he flies on! Still, still let him fly
Till he's tired, and panting for breath!

My love, both his teeth and his scythe shall defy!
That can only be conquered by Death!