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"Ah me!" she cry'd, "how soon is past
Our happy, thoughtless, youthful hour!
Our purest pleasures will not last,
But fade like this autumnal flow'r.

"Where now are all the blooming joys,
That gilded those auspicious days?
Where all the flattering, splendid toys,
Which then so high our hopes cou'd raise?

"All, all are flown; and gloomy care Now spreads o'er life her dusky wings; Each day is clouded with despair,

Each hour fresh cause of sorrow brings!

True, my fair preacher, I exclaim'd,

Our youthful hopes were rais'd too high: At more exalted bliss we aim'd,

Than e'er was found beneath the sky.

Yet whilst my Lucia constant proves,
Thus condescends to sooth my care;
Whilst she her swain thus fondly loves,
We'll bid defiance to despair.

I said, and to my lips I press'd
Her willing hand; my head, reclin'd,
I lean'd upon her soothing breast,


gave my sorrows to the wind.



A common satirical Print


COULD all men live on herbs and roots,

And naked, range the woods like brutes;
Were all men savages or sages,

They'd save their clothes and servant's wages.
Then tailors, cobblers, brewers, bakers,
And barbers, builders, undertakers,
Parsons, doctors, lawyers, kings,

And all our trades, were useless things.
But, since the contrary is true,


And most men live like me and
Of all mankind since the condition,
Quite contradicts our supposition;
Thy argument, like gun o'er loaded,
Recoils, and proves what thou'st exploded.
And you who now, in smart expressions,
Thus ridicule the three professions,
Must fee the doctor, pay the parson;
Nay, help, perhaps, the lawyer's farce on;
Or lose your right, be sick and die

Unpitied, and unburied lie;

Free from the dreaded inquisition,
Of lawyer, parson, and physician.



BORN in yon blaze of orient sky,
Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold;
Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,

And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.

For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
For thee descends the sunny show'r;
The rills in softer murmurs flow,

And brighter blossoms gem the bow'r.

Light graces dress'd in flow'ry wreaths,
And tiptoe joys their hands combine;
And love his sweet contagion breathes,
And laughing dances round thy shrine.

Warm with new life, the glitt'ring throngs, On quiv'ring fin and rustling wing, Delighted join their votive songs,

And hail thee, goddess of the spring.

Loves of the Plants.


EVENING, as slow thy placid shades descend,
Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still,
The lonely battlement, and farthest hill,
And wood; I think of those that have no friend!
Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led,
From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts,
Retiring, wander 'mid thy lonely haunts
Unseen; and mark the tints that o'er thy bed

Hang lovely, oft to musing fancy's eye
Presenting fairy vales, where the tir’d mind
Might rest, beyond the murmurs of mankind,
Nor hear the hourly moans of misery.

Ah, beauteous views! that hope's fair gleams the while
Shou'd smile like you and perish as they smile.

Monthly Review.


WHILE bees sip nectar from the rose,

And zephyrs court my swain's repose,
Beneath the woodbine shade;

I'll twine a chaplet for his brows,
Of ev'ry lovely flow'r that grows,
By nature fragrant made.

The myrtle s never fading green,
With laurel wove each branch between,
My lasting truth shall prove:

While jess'mine's virgin whiteness shows,
How pure the source from whence it flows,
And paints my spotlsss love.

Sleep on, lov'd youth, while I prepare
This wreath, to bind thy flowing hair
In nature's lovely band:

So may our hearts united be,

If so much bliss is meant for me,

When I receive thy hand.

Eliza Reeves.


OH! I am caught in Cupid's snare,
Such charms might any heart surprise;

The playful step, the artless air,

The lustre of her thrilling eyes.

The curling locks of chesnut brown,
That wave upon a neck of snow;
The brow unruffled with a frown,

The cheek, where living roses blow.

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