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WHILST in those eyes of mildest light,
Say, my sweet Susan dost thou love
Or does thy heart, when a hard world
Perhaps thou think'st a stricken heart,
Yes, my sweet love-by hopes most dear, I swear (and heaven my witness be!) This heart, that wants a friend itself,
Should bleed to purchase peace for thee.
When thought sat sadly on thy brow,
And if thy friends should prove unkind,
Nor be the pleasing hope in vain,
That scenes like these of joy pourtrays;
Again the bright returning sun,
The op'ning landscape shall illume; And the lorn flower, that seems to droop, Shall all its wonted sweets resume.
Thy heart, when all its cares are past,
I fear will never rest again.
WHEN first those beauties met my sight,
And seem'd to promise me delight,
I thought that promise true,
Kind were your looks, if e'er I gaz'd,
Or caught a transient view;
Warm'd by your smiles, those hopes were rais'd
On which my passion grew,
While thus my thoughts deluded rov'd,
No other joys I knew;
Whate'er I priz'd, whate'er I lov'd,
Was center'd all in you,
But now you treat with cold disdain
Though for no other I can prove,
"Tis hard to lose the joys of love,
Though all those hopes my heart forsake,
Yet shall that heart in silence break,
'And, breaking, pant for you,.
General Evening Post.
On the Wall of a Summer-house.
YE wild waving woods, that now closing your shade,
Ye flocks, that hang white on the side of yon hill;. Ye herds who, beneath, crop the grass of the vale, Ye that chirp in the hedge, or skim light on the rill, Or fluttering, give your gay wing to the gale.
Sweet inspirers of thought! and thou sweetest, thou dove,
Ah why, as I gaze on the landscape around,
Enchant the fair scenes, 'till enraptur'd I find
Till the sun-shine that gilds you shall brighten my mind,
So free may you flourish, fair scenes as ye rise,
So when the glad seasons their blessings shall yield,
May the labourer's laugh echo loud in the field,
And so, when the ev'ning's mild glories decline,
And whilst her fair form glitters bright in the flood, And sheds on its bosom a tremulous ray,
Tips the top of the hill, gilds the gloom of the wood, And softens each beauty that glar'd in the day.