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She sigh'd, she smil'd-and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said,

See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder what a change is made!

Ah me! the blooming pride of May
And that of beauty are but one;
At morn both flourish, bright and gay,
Both fade at evening, pale and gone.

At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung,
The amorous youth around her bow'd,
At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud.

Such as she is who died to-day,

Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow.

I SMILE AT LOVE, AND ALL HIS ARTS.

SIR JOHN VANBRUGH.

Born 1666-Died 1726.

"I smile at Love, and all his arts," The charming Cynthia cried,"Take heed for Love has piercing darts," A wounded swain replied.

"Once free and blest as you are now,

I trifled with his charms,

I pointed at his little bow,

And sported with his arms:

'Till urg'd too far-' Revenge,' he cries!
A fatal shaft he drew,

Which took its passage thro' your eyes,
And to my heart it flew :

To tear it thence I tried in vain,

To strive, I quickly found,
Was only to increase the pain,
And mortify the wound;

Too well, alas! I fear, you know
What anguish I endure,

Since what your eyes alone could do,

Your heart alone can cure."

[The composition of the well-known author of "The Relapse," and "The Provoked Wife," and the architect of Castle Howard and Blenheim. He has been satirized by Swift, and praised by Sir Joshua Reynolds. See his Life in the British Architects by Allan Cunningham.]

A TRANSLATION FROM SAPPHO.

AMBROSE PHILIPS.

Born [1671]-Died 1749.

Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile!

'Twas this bereav'd my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz'd in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost:

My bosom glow'd; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung:

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd,
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and died away.

BELVIDERA.

AMRROSE PHILIPS.

On Belvidera's bosom lying,
Wishing, panting, sighing, dying;
The cold regardless maid to move
With unavailing pray'rs I sue;
You first have taught me how to love,
Ah! teach me to be happy too!

But she, alas! unkindly wise,
To all my sighs and tears replies,
'Tis every prudent maid's concern,

Her lover's fondness to improve;
If to be happy you should learn,

You quickly would forget to love.

ZELINDA.

AMBROSE PHILIPS.

Why we love and why we hate
Is not granted us to know,
Random chance, or wilful fate-
Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.

If on me Zelinda frown,

Madness 'tis in me to grieve, Since her will is not her own,

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False though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met,
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret
I'm grateful for the past.

SABINA.

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

See, see she wakes, Sabina wakes!
And now the sun begins to rise;
Less glorious is the morn that breaks
From his bright beams, than her fair eyes,

With light united Day they give,

But different fates ere night fulfill; How many by his warmth will live! How many will her coldness kill.

THE SERENADE.

TOM D'URFEY.

1

Died 1723.

The larks awake the drowsy morn,
My dearest lovely Chloe rise,
And with thy dazzling rays adorn,

The ample world and azure skies;
Each eye of thine outshines the sun,
Tho' deck'd in all his light;

As much as he excels the moon,
Or each small twinkling star at noon,
Or meteor of the night.

Look down and see your beauty's power,
See, see the heart in which you reign;
No conquer'd slave in triumph bore,
Did ever wear so strong a chain :

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