My days have been so wondrous free! The little birds, that fly

With careless ease from tree to tree, Were but as blessed as I!

Ask gliding waters, If a tear
Of mine increased their stream?
Or ask the flying gales, If e'er
I lent a sigh to them?

But now my former days retire,
And I'm by Beauty caught!
The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fixed upon my thought!

An eager hope within my breast
Does ev'ry doubt control;
And charming NANCY stands confest
The fav'rite of my soul!

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines,
Ye Swains that haunt the grove,
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds,
Ye close retreats of Love,

With all of Nature, all of Art,
Assist the dear design!

O, teach a young unpractised heart
To make her ever mine!

The very thought of Change I hate,
As much as of Despair;

And hardly covet to be Great,
Unless it be for her!

'Tis true, the Passion, in my mind,
Is mixed with soft distress;
Yet while the Fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less!

'WHEN thy beauty appears,
In its graces and Airs,

As bright as an Angel new dropped from the sky;
At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears;
So strangely you dazzle my eye!

'But when, without art,

Your kind thoughts you impart;

When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart;

Then I know you're a Woman again!'

'There's a Passion and pride

In our Sex,' She replied,

And thus (might I gratify both!) I would do!
Still an Angel appear to each Lover beside;
But still be a Woman to you!'

ANACREONTIC.

GAY BACCHUS, liking ESTCOURT's wine,
A noble meal bespoke us;

And for the guests, that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.

The God, near CUPID drew his chair;
Near COMUS, Jocus placed:

Thus Wine makes Love forget its care;
And Mirth exalts a feast.

The more to please the spritely God!
Each sweet engaging Grace

Put on some clothes, to come abroad;
And took a Waiter's place.

Then CUPID named, at every Glass,

A Lady of the sky;

While BACCHUS swore, he'd drink the Lass! And had it bumper-high.

Fat COмUS tossed his brimmers o'er,
And always got the most;
Jocus took care to fill him more;
Whene'er he missed the Toast.

Then called, and drank at every touch;
He filled, and drank again!

And if the Gods can take too much,
'Tis said, they did so then!

[Free jests run all the table round,
And with the wine conspire
(While they, by sly reflection wound)
To set their heads on fire.]

Gay BACCHUS, little CUPID stung,
By reck'ning his deceits;

And CUPID mocked his stammering tongue,
With all his stagg'ring gaits.

And Jocus drolled on Coмus' ways,

And tales without a jest;

While COMUS called his witty Plays

But waggeries at best.

Such talk soon set them all at odds;

And, had I HOMER'S pen,

I'd sing ye, How they drunk, like Gods; And how they fought, like men.

To part the fray, the Graces fly;
Who make them soon agree!

Nay, had the Furies' selves been nigh,
They still were three to three!

BACCHUS appeased, raised CUPID up;
And gave him back his bow;
But kept some darts to stir the cup
Where Sack and sugar flow.

JOCUS took CoмUS' rosy crown,

And gaily wore the prize:

And thrice, in mirth, he pushed him down, As thrice he strove to rise.

Then CUPID Sought the myrtle grove,

Where VENUS did recline;

And, VENUS close embracing Love,
They joined to rail at Wine.

And COMUS, loudly cursing Wit,
Rolled off to some retreat,
Where boon companions gravely sit
In fat unwieldy State.

BACCHUS and Jocus still behind,
For one fresh Glass prepare!
They kiss, and are exceeding kind;
And vow to be sincere.

But part in time (whoever hear
This our instructive Song!);

For though such friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long!