Dry up thy tears, and cease to mourn,
Return'd the sylvan chaste,
Accept from me this magic zone,
And bind it round thy waist.

Tie up thy locks, thy dress improve,

And soon this change thou'lt see; Psyche shall cease to follow love, Fond love shall follow thee.

The zone about her waist she ties,
Each tress a ringlet flows,
Her boson's hid from vulgar eyes,
Each cheek displays a rose.

Now in the stream she views her face,
Exults at charms so fair;

The while she studied ev'ry grace,
Love came and found her there.

Enraptur'd to her arms he flew,

With joy he bless'd the change, Improv'd the cause from whence it grew, And Love forgot to range.

Ye wedded dames, my hints descry,
Nor blame the friendly part;
The slattern makes the lover fly,
While neatness chains the heart.

T. M. E. G.

EPIGRAM,

On angling at Kelham after the death of the late Duke of Newcastle, who, when Lord Lincoln, had a temporary residence there.

AN IMPROMPTU.

IN the trials of patience which pursue us thro' life,
There is one I may venture to tell 'em ;
Poor Job, tho' perplex'd with a fond foolish wife,
Yet, I trust, he ne'er angled at Kelham.

THE SIMPE SWAIN.

A PASTORAL.

IN wayward mood, in passion's guise,
There was a time when tears and sighs
Were grateful to my soul;

I hail'd the gloom-I sought the grove,
I felt the pangs of wasting love,
And own'd his full control.

Haply to meet the peerless maid,
Oft 'mid the vista's length I stray'd,
All comfortless I sought;
To lull my woes, to still my pain,
I lov'd the soft elegiac strain,
And fair poetic thought.

C.S.

But musings that seclusions bring,
But strains that love-lorn poets sing,

Are nought to heal a lover;
Chance leads the fair one to the vale;
Tongue knows not to unfold the tale,

So eyes the flame discover.

The past'ral maid, in all her charms,
Thus lur'd unto my longing arms,
I woo'd-I won-I wed-

Gone were my tears, my pangs, my sighs,
Much was the "eloquence of eyes,"
But few the words we said.

Ah! shepherd swains, of LOOKS beware,
Words be your earlier, better care,

And SENSE th' important rule;
When but one moon had run its round,
O heavens! the peerless maid I found,
A VIXEN and a FOOL.

English Chronicle.

TO A PHYSICIAN,
On his Marriage.

DEAR Doctor, let me wish you joy,
If 'tis not past the wishing season;
Let me, as poets use, employ

A little rhyme, a little reason.

No jokes on human nature fear,
'Tis fit I to Physicians leave her;
Who from an ague can set clear,
And know the symptom's of a fever.

Forgive me, if too fond of rule,

I learn the habit of advising; I shall but briefly play the fool, In wishing, or in moralizing.

All strife for empire be abhorr'd;

Which often nuptial quiet vexes; Tho' you by right divine are lord,

Yet souls no difference know of sexes.

Your griefs and pleasures let her share,
Deserv'dly your esteem possessing,
To blunt the smart of ev'ry care,

And raise the sweets of ev'ry blessing.

Nor joy, nor jar, be heard or seen,
Nor umpire, nor spectator, needing;
Soon as a third crept in between,
Remember Adam lost his Eden.

May rolling years, that strength impair,
Cement your friendship still the stronger;

O! may her mind appear most fair,
Then, when her face is so no longer.

Safe may you rest thro' life's decline,
From pain acute or great disaster;
While children, as they grow, combine
To draw your true-love knot the faster.

Till he, whose universal dart

The learn'd and fair must suffer under,
Your true-love knot alone shall part,
Who parts the knot of life asunder.

English Chronicle.

SONNET TO FORTITUDE.

FROM PETARCH.

NYMPH of the rock! whose dauntless spirit braves
The beating storm and bitter winds that howl!

Round my cold breast; and hear'st the bursting waves,
And the deep thunder, with unshaken soul!
O come! and shew how vain the cares that press
On my weak bosom, and how little worth

Is the false fleeting meteor, Happiness,

That still misleads the wanderers of the earth!
Strengthen'd by thee, this heart shall cease to melt
O'er ills thar poor Humanity must bear;
Nor friends estrang'd, or ties dissolv'd be felt,

To leave regret and fruitless anguish there;
And when at length it heaves its latest sigh,
Thou, and mild Hope, shall teach me how to die.