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But if thou wilt in darkness lurk,
And thy weak rage fulfil;
Take thy revenge on thy poor self,
And write bad satire still.
GENTLE mother chide no longer,
Touch not rough a tender flower,
In its bloom untimely fading,
Crush'd by sorrow's heavy show'r.
Have you on the same occasion,
Never with your duty strove;
Could you never hear persuasion
Dropping from the lip of love?
Had you seen the lovely stranger,
And had been so sweetly bid;
You had lost all thought of danger,
And lov'd him more than Mira did.
FIELDS OF FONTENAY.
FAREWELL fields of Fontenay,
Where I first beheld the day!
Soon to close my aged eye,
Soon to join my ancestry;
When I seek their lowly cell,
Fields of Fontenay, farewell.
When the muse that wak'd my lyre,
Sees the breath she tun'd expire;
When the groves that wont to wave
O'er my slumbers, shade my grave;
Where I once enjoy'd the day,
Farewell fields of Fontenay!
SAYS Damon to his sprightly girl
To me this prayer be given,
To live with thee, angelic fair
I ask no more of heaven.
An higher boon thy Silvia craves, Cries she with roguish eye,
With Damon not content to live,
I wish with him to die.
CHLOE, I VOW Sincerely
All to be vow'd by man,
I'll love you dearly, dearly,
As long-as love I can.
You men when most you're kind,
Still for a change will plead;
And to love's feast we find,
A tedious fast succeed.
But this I vow sincerely,
That should it so befall;
You cease to love me dearly,
Why then, another shall.
THE Sweet deceiver hope destroys,
By airy visions, real joys;
Each future scene by her array'd
In brightness, makes the present fade;
All the long day we wish for night,
Then sigh for the return of light.
Through gloomy winter's reign we mourn
Till pleasure-pinion'd spring's return;
But here, with joyless feet, we tread
The verdant lawn, or painted mead,
Till summer comes-yet ev'n from this
Enjoyment's fled; the promis'd bliss
Is now postpon'd, till autumn shews
Her golden fields and loaded boughs:
Hither we press-but vain the chace!
The phantom flies with equal pace :
Now winter charms-again it comes,
And her still tasteless reign resumes;
The trav❜ller thus, thick mists inclose,
But seem to fly where'er he goes.
Lo! my fair the morning lazy,
Peeps abroad from yonder hill;
Phoebus rises red and hazy,
Frost has stopp'd the village mill.
All around looks sad and dreary;
Fast the flaky snow descends:
Yet the red-breasts chirrup cheery,
While the mitten'd lass attends.
Rise the winds, and rocks the cottage,
Thaws the roof and wets the path;
Dorcas cooks the sav'ry pottage,
Smokes the cake upon the hearth.
April. Sunshine intermits with ardour,
Shades fly swiftly o'er the fields; Show'rs revive the drooping verdure, Sweets the sunny uplands yields.
Pearly beams the eye of morning,
Child! forbear the deed unbless'd!
Hawthorn ev'ry hedge adorning,
Pluck the flow'r but
School-boys in the brooks disporting,
Spend the sultry hour of play;
While the nymphs and swains are courting,
Seated on the new made hay.
Maids with each a guardian lover,
While the vivid lightning flies;
Hast'ning to the nearest cover,
Clap their hands before their eyes.