Ye too, my idol babes, farewell!
Like me whose tender forms may bleed,
The gloomy crimes of murder swell,
While nature shudders at the deed.

Yet know, we only fall to rise,
And start to glory from the dust,
To claim alliance with the skies,
The sacred refuge from th' unjust!

My spirit lo! for your's shall wait,
Together we shall seek that shore
Where sorrow dies, and ruthless fate
Can give the parting pang no more.

CHORUS.

Go injur'd king, with seraphs shine,
Behold a brighter crown is thine!
And see appear, with gladden'd eyes,
A host to hail thee 'midst the skies!

Dr. Wolcot.

ON A BOUQUET OF COWSLIPS.

Now from your cups who sips the honey'd dew? No more, gay children of the glowing spring, 'Tis yours to paint the fascinating view,

No more your posies to young Flora bring.

The vernal fairies, in their wanton rounds,

No more shall court your innocent perfume; Perhaps, like you, ere morning music sounds,

Your pensive poet may explore his tomb.

Dear emblems of life's transitory scene,
To you sad elegy devotes her lay;
No longer blooms your saffron-tinctur'd mien,
The breathing portrait of the vivid May.

Torn from your verdant beds, to pleasure's eye

You shrink, you languish, and must ever fade : So he who marks your fate, shall droop and die, Leave nature's landscape, and become a shade. Gentleman's Magazine.

THE LADIES TO THE GENTLEMEN.

SHOULD WE Surrender, soon, our hearts,
The easy conquest you disdain;
Yet rail at all our little arts,

And say, that maids should never feign.

How wretched, then, is virgin youth!
Which neither path can safely try ;
For scorn attends our speaking truth,
And virtue yet forbids to lie.

THE GENTLEMEN TO THE LADIES.

A

BRAVE resistance gives renown, Whilst easy conquest all disdain; The longer you defend the town, The greater honour still you gain.

From questions, by ensnaring youth
Propos'd, your wit must set you free;
You need not tell us all the truth:

You're on your oaths no more than we.

SWIFT flew the hours in thoughtless glee,

And Sylvia blush'd to own

She half forgot her Strephon's plea,

That said "love me alone."

Dear swain forgive! a sister pleads!

Thy Sylvia still is true;

And when she stray'd thro' pleasure's meads, Her thoughts half dwelt on you.

The dance, the revel, evening walk,
Still heard the frequent sigh;

She shut her ears to am'rous talk

When beaux have flutter'd nigh.

And if in gay diversion's round
Neglect did e'er appear,

'Tis past!-assuage her heart-felt wound,

Kiss off her falling tear.

ZEPHYR enamour'd of the opening Rose,

With many a wooing sigh her beauty greets, While, softly mov'd, her blushing head she bows: And coldly coy, resigns her treasur'd sweets.

Lo! now half rais'd, again her face she shows The sportive spoiler's am'rous breast to meet; And now the senseless wand'rer ruder grows, And lays her faded charms beneath our feet.

Ah! soft remembrancers of certain fate,
Thus are thy beauties wafted o'er the wild!
And do my giddy mates, in life elate,

By pleasure's gay enamell'd paths beguil❜d,
Thus lonely leave me o'er thy with'ring bloom

To drop the tear, and contemplate the tomb? Mrs. Stephens.

SONNET.

THE chilling gale that nipp'd the rose,
Now murm'ring sinks to soft repose;
The shad'wy vapours sail away,

Upon the silv'ry floods of day.

Health breathes on ev'ry face I see,
But ah! she breathes no more for me.

The woodbine wafts its odours meek,
To kiss the rose's glowing cheek;
Pale twilight sheds her vagrant showers,
To wake Aurora's infant flowers:
May smiles on ev'ry face I see,
But ah! she smiles no more for me.

Perchance, when youth's delicious bloom
Shall fade unheeded in the tomb,
Fate may direct a wand'ring eye
To where my mould'ring reliques lie;
And touch'd by sacred sympathy,
That eye shall drop a tear for me.

Mrs. Robinson.