ANACREONTIC.

I FILL'D to thee, to thee I drank,
I nothing did but drink and fill

;

The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still.

At length I bid an artist paint
Thy image in this ample cup,
That I might see the dimpled saint,

To whom I quaff'd my nectar up.

Behold, how bright that purple lip
Now blushes through the wave at me;
Every roseate drop I sip

Is just like kissing wine from thee.

And still I drink the more for this;

For, ever when the draught I drain,

Thy lip invites another kiss,

And in the nectar flows again.

So, here's to thee, my gentle dear,
And may that eyelid never shine
Beneath a darker, bitterer tear

Than bathes it in this bowl of mine!

THE SURPRISE.

CHLORIS, I swear, by all I ever swore,

That from this hour I shall not love thee more.

"What! love no more? Oh! why this alter'd vow?"

Because I cannot love thee more - than now!

TO MISS

ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS.

I'LL ask the sylph who round thee flies,
And in thy breath his pinion dips,
Who suns him in thy radiant eyes,

And faints upon thy sighing lips:

I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep
That us'd to shade thy looks of light;
And why those eyes their vigil keep,
When other suns are sunk in night?

And I will say her angel breast

Has never throbb'd with guilty sting;

Her bosom is the sweetest nest

Where Slumber could repose his wing!

And I will say

- her cheeks that flush,

Like vernal roses in the sun,

Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush, Except for what her eyes have done!

Then tell me, why, thou child of air! Does slumber from her eyelids rove? What is her heart's impassion'd care?

Perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps, 'tis love.

THE WONDER.

COME, tell me where the maid is found,
Whose heart can love without deceit,

And I will range the world around,
To sigh one moment at her feet.

Oh! tell me where's her sainted home,
What air receives her blessed sigh,

A pilgrimage of years I'll roam

To catch one sparkle of her eye!

And if her cheek be smooth and bright,
While truth within her bosom lies,

I'll

gaze upon her morn and night,

Till my heart leave me through my eyes.

Show me on earth a thing so rare,
I'll own all miracles are true;

To make one maid sincere and fair,

Oh, 'tis the utmost Heav'n can do!