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CLARINDA... FANNY OF THE DALE.

Were mine, ye great! your envied lot,
In gilded courts to dwell;
I'd leave them for a lonely cot
With Love and Kitty Fell.

CLARINDA.

CLARINDA'S lips I fondly press'd,
While rapture fill'd each vein;
And as I touch'd her downy breast,
Its tenant slept serene.

So soft a calm, in such a part,
Betrays a peaceful mind;
Whilst my uneasy, fluttering heart,
Would scarcely be confined.

A stubborn oak the shepherd sees,

Unmoved, when storms descend; But, ah! to every sporting breeze, The myrtle bough must bend.

FANNY OF THE DALE.

LET the declining damask rose
With envious grief look pale;
The summer bloom more freely glows
In Fanny of the Dale.

Is there a sweet that decks the field,
Or scents the morning gale,
Can such a vernal fragrance yield—
As Fanny of the Dale?

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The painted belles, at court revered,
Look lifeless, cold, and stale :
How faint their beauties when compared
With Fanny of the Dale!

The willows bind Pastora's brows,
Her fond advances fail;

For Damon pays his warmest vows
To Fanny of the Dale.

Might honest truth at last succeed,
And artless love prevail;
Thrice happy could he tune his reed
With Fanny of the Dale!

DAPHNE.

No longer, Daphne, I admire
The graces in thine eyes;
Continued coyness kills desire,

And famish'd passion dies.
Three tedious years I've sigh'd in vain,
Nor could my vows prevail;
With all the rigours of disdain

You scorn'd my amorous tale.

When Celia cried, How senseless she,
That has such vows refused;

Had Damon given his heart to me,
It had been kinder used.

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The man's a fool that pines and dies,
Because a woman's coy;

The gentle bliss that one denies,
A thousand will enjoy.'

Such charming words, so void of art,

Surprising rapture gave;

And though the maid subdued my heart, It ceased to be a slave:

A wretch condemn'd shall Daphne prove; While, bless'd without restraint,

In the sweet calendar of love

My Celia stands—a saint.

THYRSIS.

THE pendent forest seem'd to nod,
In drowsy fetters bound;

And fairy elves in circles trod

The daisy-painted ground:
When Thyrsis sought the conscious grove,
Of slighted vows to tell,

And thus, to sooth neglected love,
Invoked sad Philomel-

'The stars their silver radiance shed,
And silence charms the plain;
But where's my Philomela fled,

To sing her lovelorn strain? Hither, ah, gentle bird, in haste

Direct thy hovering wing:
The vernal green's a dreary waste
Till you vouchsafe to sing.

So thrilling sweet thy numbers flow
(Thy warbling song distress'd!)
The tear that tells the lover's woe
Falls cold upon my breast.

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To hear sad Philomel complain
Will soften my despair;

Then quickly swell the melting strain,
And sooth a lover's care.'

Give up all hopes, unhappy swain,
A listening sage replied,
For what can constancy obtain
From unrelenting pride?

The shepherd droop'd-the tyrant, Death,
Had seized his trembling frame;
He bow'd, and with departing breath
Pronounced Zaphira's name.

A MAN TO MY MIND.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A LADY.

SINCE wedlock's in vogue, and stale virgins despised, [mised;To all batchelors, greeting, these lines are preI'm a maid that would marry, but where shall I find (I wish not for fortune) a man to my mind? Not the fair-weather fop, fond of fashion and lace; Not the squire that can wake to no joys but the chase; [bind: Not the free-thinking rake, whom no morals can Neither this-that-nor the' other's the man to mind.

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Not the ruby-faced sot, that topes world without end; [friend; Not the drone, who can't relish his bottle and Not the fool, that's too fond; nor the churl that's unkind: [mind. Neither this-that-nor the' other's the man to my

Not the wretch with full bags, without breeding or merit;

Not the Flash, that's all fury without any spirit; Not the fine master Fribble, the scorn of mankind: Neither this-that-nor the' other's the man to my mind.

But the youth in whom merit and sense may conspire;

Whom the brave must esteem, and the fair should admire ; [combined: In whose heart love and truth are with honour This—this—and no other's the man to my mind,

TO CHLOE WITH A ROSE.

YES, every flower that blows
I pass'd unheeded by,
Till this enchanted Rose
Had fix'd my wandering eye.

It scented every breeze

That wanton'd o'er the stream,
Or trembled through the trees,
To meet the morning beam.
To deck that beauteous maid,

Its fragrance can't excel,
From some celestial shade

The damask charmer fell:
And as her balmy sweets

On Chloe's breast she pours,
The Queen of Beauty greets
The gentle Queen of Flowers.

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