THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD. ALEXIS shunned his fellow Swains, The Nymphs and Shepherds round him came: CLORINDA came, among the rest; She feared too much to know. The Shepherd raised his mournful head, Which nothing from my breast should tear, But that you bid me tell. "Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain; Since you appeared upon the plain! You are the cause of all my care! Your eyes, ten thousand dangers dart! Ten thousand torments vex my heart! I love, and I despair!' 'Too much, ALEXIS! I have heard! 'Tis what I thought! 'tis what I feared! And yet I pardon you!' she cried, 'But you must promise ne'er again To breathe your vows; or speak your pain!' He bowed, obeyed, and died! A DUTCH PROVERB. 'FIRE, Water, Woman, are Man's ruin!' Says wise Professor VAN DER BRUIN. By flames, a house I hired was lost Last year; and I must pay the cost! This Spring, the rains o'erflowed my ground; And my best Flanders mare was drowned! A slave I am to CLARA's eyes; The gipsy knows her power, and flies! Fire, Water, Woman, are my ruin; And great thy wisdom, VAN DER BRUIN! TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, OF FIVE YEARS OLD; THE AUTHOR SUPPOSED, FORTY. LORDS, Knights, and Squires, the num'rous Band My pen, amongst the rest, I took, Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fires; and look The power they have to be obeyed. Nor Quality, nor Reputation, Forbid me yet my flame to tell! Dear Five Years Old befriends my Passion! For, while she makes her silk-worms beds She may receive, and own my flame! For, though the strictest Prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous Dame; And I, for an unhappy Poet! Then too, alas! when she shall tear For as our diff'rent ages move, 'Tis so ordained, (Would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love, When she begins to comprehend it. WHILE from our looks, fair Nymph! you guess The secret Passions of our mind, 'My heavy eyes,' you say, 'confess A heart to Love and Grief inclined!' There needs, alas! but little art To have this fatal secret found! With the same ease you threw the dart, How can I see you, and not love? While you, as opening East are fair! While cold as northern blasts you prove; How can I love, and not despair? The wretch, in double fetters bound, THE QUESTION TO LISETTA. WHAT Nymph should I admire, or trust, But CLOE beauteous! CLOE just? What Nymph should I desire to see, But her who leaves the plain for me? To whom should I compose the Lay, But her who listens when I play? To whom, in Song repeat my cares, For whom should I the garland make, LISETTA'S REPLY. SURE, CLOE just, and CLOE fair, But when your cares to her you sing; You dare not tell her, whence they spring! Does it not more afflict your heart, That in those cares she bears a part? |