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E. MOORE'S POEMS.
Yet while your eyes with pity glow'd,
But mildly bid me cease to blend
The name of lover with the friend.
Sick with desire, and mad with pain,
I seek for happiness in vain : O POVERTY! thou source of human art,
Thou lovely maid, to thee I cry, Thou great inspirer of the poet's song!
Heal me with kindness, or I die! In vain Apollo dictates, and the Nine
From sad despair my soul defend,
And fix the lover and the friend.
Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy
My utmost hope of earthly joy ! Thou giv'st the organ sound; by thee the flute
Thy gifts, O Fortune! I resign, Breathes harmony; the tuneful viol owns
Let her and poverty be mine! Thy pow'rful touch. The warbling voice is thine:
And every year that life shall lend,
Shall bless the lover and the friend.
Hail, pow'r omnipotent! Me uninvok'd
Vain thought! though seas between us roll,
Thy love is rooted in my soul;
With thy idea must depart.
At once the lover and the friend.
Thus I said to my heart, in a pet t other day,
“I had rather be hang'd than go moping this way;
No throbbings, no wishes your moments employ, Fear not the poet's flatt'ring strain;
But you sleep in my breast without motion or joy. No idle praise my verse shall stain; The lowly numbers shall impart
“When Chloe perplex'd me 'twas sweeter by half, The faithful dictates of my heart,
And at Thais's wiles I could often-times laugh; Nor hunble modesty offend,
Your burnings and achings I strove not to cure, And part the lover from the friend.
Though one was a jilt, and the other a whore. Not distant is the cruel day,
“When I walk'd up the Mall, or
a through the That tears me from my hopes away;
street, Then frown not, fairest, if I try
Not a petticoat brush'd me, but then you could beat, To steal the moisture from your eye,
Or if bang went the hoop against corner or post,
In the magical round you were sure to be lost.
“ But now if a nymph goes as naked as Eve,
Like Adam, unfallen, you never perceive;
Or the seat of delight if the tippet should hide,
You tempt not my fingers to draw it aside.
“Is it caution, or dread, or the frost of old age,
That inclives you with beauty no more to engage? Whole years I strove against the flame,
Tell me quickly the cause, forit makes me quite mad,
In the summer's gay season to see you so sadi.”
“ Have a care," quoth my heart, “ how you temps Till grown unable to contend,
me to stray ; I ownd the lover and the friend.
He that hunts down a woman, must run a dd
way; I saw you still. Your gen'rous heart
Like a hare she can wind, or hold out with the far; In all my sorrows bore a part ;
And, secure in the chase, her pursuers she wocks
* For Chloe I burnt with an innocent fame,
Together will wander, and love shall be by :
Her Collin shall guard her safe all the long day,
And Phebe at night all his pains shall repay., “ Next Thais, the wanton, my wishes employ'd, And the kind one repair'd what the cruel destroy'd: Like Shadrach, I liv'd in a furnace of fire,
By moonlight, when shadows glide over the plain, But, unlike him, was scorch'd and compellid to retire. His kisses shall cheer me, his arm shall sustain ; “Recruited once more, I forgot all my pain,
The dark haunted grove I can trace without fear,
Or sleep in a church-yard, if Collin is near.
'Tis lore, like the Sun, &c.
Ye shepherds that wanton it over the plain, But your eyes, ever open to lead me astray,
How fleeting your transports, how lasting your pain! Have beheld a new face, and command me away.
Inconstancy shun, and reward the kind she,
And learn to be happy of Phebe and me. < But remember, in whatever flames I may burn, *Twill be folly to ask for, or wish my return: Nether Thais, nor Chloe, again shall inflame,
Ye nymphs, who the pleasures of love never try'd, But a nymph more provoking than all you can
Attend io my strains, and take me for your guide; name."
Your hearts keep from pride and inconstancy free,
And learn to be happy of Collin and me.
'Tis love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year, And vows I shall never possess him again.
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.
SONG III. Be still, O ye winds, and attentive, ye swains,
As Phillis the gay, at the break of the day,
Went forth to the meadows a maying,
That round in meanders was straying.
His bosom was bare, and for whiteness so rare, Glide softly, ye streams, o ye nymphs, round me Her heart it was yone without warning, I throng,
With cheeks of such hue, that the rose wet with dew, 'Tis Collio commands, and attends to my song; Ne'er look'd half so fresh in a morning. Search all the world over, you never can find A maden so blest, or a shepherd so kind.
She cull'd the new hay, and down by him she lay,
Her wishes too warm for disguising;
She play'd with his eyes, till he wak'd in surprise, T's love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year, And blush'd like the Sun at his rising.
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
And rested her arm on his shoulder;
And taught his two arms to infold her.
The rustic grown kind, by a kiss told his mind, Mar;
And call'd her his dear and his blessing: The Summer's gay verdure springs still as she treads, Together they stray'd, and sung, frolic'd, and play'd,
And what they did more there 's no guessing: 2ndlinnets and nightingales sing through the meads.
Kind love shall repay the fatigues of the day,
And melt us to softer alarms;
Coy Phillis shall burn at her soldier's return,
And bless the brave youth in her arms. And such shall still be mine and Johnny's.
The rebels shall ay, as with shouts we draw nigh,
And Echo shall victory ring; Together let us sport and play,
Then safe from alarms, we 'll rest on our arms, And live in pleasure where no sin is;
And chorus it, long live the king ! The priest shall tie the knot to day,
And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.
Let roving swains young hearts invade,
The pleasure ends in shame and folly; So Willy woo'd, and then betray'd
The poor, believing, simple Molly.
So Lucy lov'd, and lightly toy'd,
And laugh'd at harmless maids who marry; But now she finds her shepherd cloy'd,
And chides too late her faithless Harry.
But we 'll together sport and play,
And live in pleasure where no sin is; The priest shall tie the knot to day, - And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's,
Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware,
CHORUS. Then, husbands, &c.
By cooling streams our focks we 'll feed,
And leave deceit to knaves and ninnies; Or fondly stray where love shall lead,
And every joy be mine and Jenny's,
The constant heart is always bonny ;
And love shall live with me and Johnny.
Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware,
Together still we 'll sport and play,
Hark, hark, o'er the plains how the merry bells
Asleep while my charmer is laid! [ring,
And Phillis may yet die a maid.
(voice, We'll fight for our king, and as loyally sing,
0, Damon, I 'm young and afraid; And let the world kuuw we'll be free,
To morrow, my dear, I 'll to church without fear,
But let ine to night lie a maid.
All, all my coy Phillis upbraid;
Nor cry to live longer a maid.
And plenty and peace bless the isle; [shore, Dear shepherd, forbear, and to morrow I swear, The peasant shall quaff off his bowl with a laugh,
To morrow I'll not be afraid;
I'll open the door, and deny you no more,
Nor cry to live longer a inaid.
To night shall your shepherd be laid;
How blest has my time been, what days have I
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own!
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.
His bliss silly Damon delay'd ;
Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play;
And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me.
To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen
And meets me at night with compliance and smiles. They say I'm in love, but I answer no, no.
What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, At ev'ning oft-times with what pleasure I see A pote from her hand, “I'll be with you at tea !! | Her ease and good-humour bloom all the year
through; My heart how it bounds, when I hear her below!
Time still as he flies brings increase to her truth, But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no.
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. She sings me a song, and I echo each strain, Again I cry, Jenny! sweet Jenny, again!
Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, I kiss her soft lips, as if there I could grow,
And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, And fear I'm in love, though I answer no, no.
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam!
To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
Hark! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb !
“ Come, Lucy,” it cries, “ come away! Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow,
The grave of thy Collin bas room,
To rest thee beside bis cold clay.” And wish to persuade, while I answer no, no?
“ I come, my dear shepherd, I come; From beauty, and wit, and good-humour, ah! why
Ye friends and companions, adieu ; Should prudence advise, and compel me to fly?
I haste to my Collin's dark home, Thy bounties, O Fortune! make haste to bestow,
To die on his bosom so true.” And let me deserve her, or still I say no.
All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, sad Lucy arose ;
And forth to the green-turf she sprung,
Where Collin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew, And easy, and chatty, and good-humour'd too;
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground, That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June,
While stormy winds over her blew, And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in
And night-ravens croak'd all around. tune: All this has been told me by twenty before,
“ How long, my lov'd Collin,” she cry'd, But he that would win me, must flatter me more.
“ How long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide? If beauty from virtue receive no supply,
How long ere it join us again? Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I!
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd, My ease and good-bumour short raptures will bring,
With thee o'er the world would she fly, And my voice, like the nightingale's, know but a
For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,
For thee would she lie down and die.
" Alas! what avails it how dear
Thy Lucy was once to her swain ! Then talk to me not of a shape or an air,
Her face like the lily so fair,
And eyes that gave light to the plain!
While thus she lay sunk in despair,
No wanton taint her bosom knew, And mourn'd to the Echoes around,
Her hours in heav'nly vision flew, Inflam'd all at once grew the air,
Her knees were worn with midnight pray’rs, And thunder shook dreadful the ground: And thus she breath'd divinest airs. " I hear the kind call, and obey,
Oh, Collin, receive me," she cry'd! Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,
In hallow'd walks, and awful cells,
Secluded from the light and vain,
And solitude, and silence reign.
The wanton's voice is heard not here,
To Heav'n the sacred pile belongs;
And echoes but to holy songs.
Intrude where sainted vestals are ! By the flocks as she stray'd with the nymphs of the Ah, Francis ! Francis! well I weet
Those holy looks are all deceit. vale, Not a shepherd but woo'd her to hear her soft tale; The priest was young, the nun was frail,
With shame the Muse prolongs her tale, Though fatal the passion, she laugh'd at the swain, And return'd with Poglect, what she heard with dis- Love tun'd her voice, and thus she sung.
Devotion faulter'd on her tongue, dain. But beauty has wings and too hastily flies,
AIR. And love imrewarded, soon sickens and dies.
“ Alas, how deluded was I, The nymph cur'd by time of her folly and pride,
To fancy delights as I did! Now sighs in her turn for the bliss she denied.
With maidens at midnight to sigh, No longer she frolics it wide o'er the plain,
And love, the sweet passion, forbid!
O, father! my follies forgive,
And still to absolve me be nigh;
Come teach me, O! teach me to die !" kind.
To her arms in a rapture he sprung,
Her bosom, half-naked, met his;
Transported in silence she hung,
And melted away at each kiss.
“ Ah, father !” expiring she cry'd, Wuen Damon languish'd at my feet,
“ With rapture 1 yield up my breath !” And I believ'd him true,
“ Ah, daughter !” he fondly reply'd, The moments of delight how sweet!
“ The righteous find comfort in death." But ah ! how swift they flew ! The sunny hill, the flow'ry vale,
The garden and the grove, Have echo'd to his ardent tale, And vows of endless love.
SOLOMON, A SERENATA: