S ON G.

WHEN

HEN thy beauty appears,
In its graces and airs,

All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,
So ftrangely you dazzle my eye!

But when without art,

Your kind thoughts you impart,

When your love runs in blushes thro' ev'ry vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,

Then I know you're a woman again.

There's a paffion and pride

In our fex (the reply'd)

And thus (might I gratify both) I wou'd do:

Still an angel appear to each lover befide,
But still be a woman to you.

В 2

TH

A SONG.

HYRSIS, a young and am'rous fwain,
Saw two, the beauties of the plain;
Who both his heart fubdue:

Gay Caelia's eyes were dazzling fair,
Sabina's easy shape and air

With fofter magic drew.

He haunts the stream, he haunts the

Lives in a fond romance of love,

And feems for each to die;

"Till each a little fpiteful grown, Sabina Caelia's fhape ran down, And the Sabina's eye.

grove

Their envy made the shepherd find
Those eyes, which love could only blind;
So fet the lover free:

No more he haunts the grove or ftream,
Or with a true love knot and name
Engraves a wounded tree.

Ah Caelia (fly Sabina cry'd)

Tho' neither love, we're both deny'd;
Now to fupport the fex's pride,

Let either fix the dart.

Poor girl! (fays Caelia) fay no more;
For fhou'd the fwain but one adore,

That spite which broke his chains before,
Wou'd break the other's heart.

Y

SONG.

My days have been fo wond'rous free,

The little birds that fly

With careless ease from tree to tree,

Were but as blefs'd as I.

Afk gliding waters, if a tear

Of mine increas'd their stream?

Or afk the flying gales, if e'er
I lent one figh to them?

But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught,
The tender chains of fweet defire
Are fix'd upon my thought.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines!
Ye fwains that haunt the grove!
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds!
Ye clofe retreats of love!

With all of nature, all of art,
Affift the dear defign;

O teach a young unpractis'd heart,
To make my Nancy mine.

The very thought of change I hate
As much as of despair;
Nor ever covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the paffion in my mind Is mix'd with foft distress;

Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it lefs.

ANACREONTIC.

HEN Spring came on with fresh delight, To chear the foul, and charm the fight, While eafy breezes, softer rain,

And warmer funs falute the plain; 'Twas then, in yonder piny grove,

That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath,
Where-e'er fhe trod, 'twas green beneath;
Where-e'er fhe turn'd, the pulfes beat
With new recruits of genial heat;
And in her train the birds appear,

To match for all the coming year.
Rais'd on a bank, where daizys grew.

And vi'lets intermix'd a blue,

She finds the boy she went to find;
A thousand pleasures wait behind,
Afide, a thousand arrows ly,

But all unfeather'd wait to fly.

When they met, the Dame and Boy,

Dancing Graces, idle Joy,

Wanton Smiles, and airy Play,

Coufpir'd to make the scene be gay;

Love pair'd the birds through all the grove,
And nature bid them fing to love,