INCONSTANCY.

AND do I then wonder that Julia deceives me,
When surely there's nothing in nature more common?
She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me-
But could I expect any more from a woman?

Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure;

And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, When he thought you were only materials of pleasure, And reason and thinking were out of your sphere.

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, He thinks that an age of anxiety 's paid;

But, oh! while he 's blest, let him die on the minuteIf he live but a day, he 'll be surely betray'd.

IMITATION OF CATULLUS. '

TO HIMSELF.

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, etc.

CEASE the sighing fool to play;
Cease to trifle life away;

Nor vainly think those joys thine own,
Which all, alas! have falsely flown!
What hours, Catullus, once were thine,
How fairly seem'd thy day to shine,
When lightly thou didst fly to meet
The girl, who smiled so rosy sweet-
The girl thou lovedst with fonder pain
Than e'er thy heart can feel again!
You met-your souls seem'd all in one-
Sweet little sports were said and done-
Thy heart was warm enough for both,
And hers indeed was nothing loath.
Such were the hours that once were thine;
But, ah! those hours no longer shine!
For now the nymph delights no more
In what she loved so dear before;
And all Catullus now can do

Is to be proud and frigid too;

Nor follow where the wanton flies,

Nor sue the bliss that she denies.

False maid! he bids farewell to thee,

To love, and all love's misery.
The hey-day of his heart is o'er,
Nor will he court one favour more;
But soon he 'll see thee droop thy head,
Doom'd to a lone and loveless bed,
When none will seek the happy night,
Or come to traffic in delight!
Fly, perjured girl!-but whither fly?
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye?
Who now will drink the syren tone,
Which tells him thou art all his own?
Who now will court thy wild delights,
Thy honey kiss, and turtle bites?

Oh! none.-And he who loved before

Can never, never love thee more!

EPIGRAM.1

YOUR mother says, my little Venus,
There's something not correct between us,
And you 're in fault as much as 1:
Now, on my soul, my little Venus,
I think 't would not be right between us,
To let your mother tell a lie!

TO JULIA.

THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part, Our souls it cannot, shall not, sever; The heart will seek its kindred heart, And cling to it as close as ever.

But must we, must we part indeed? Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia's bosom bleed To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she too mourn?-Perhaps she may; Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting: But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

I oft have loved the brilliant glow
Of rapture in her blue eye streaming-
But can the bosom bleed with woe,

While joy is in the glances beaming?

No, no!-Yet, love, I will not chide,

Although your heart were fond of roving: Nor that, nor all the world beside,

Could keep your faithful boy from loving.

You'll soon be distant from his eye,

And, with you, all that's worth possessing. Oh! then it will be sweet to die,

When life has lost its only blessing!

SONG.

SWEET seducer! blandly smiling;
Charming still, and still beguiling!
Oft I swore to love thee never,
Yet I love thee more than ever!

Why that little wanton blushing, Glancing eye, and bosom flushing! Flushing warm, and wily glancingAll is lovely, all entrancing!

Turn away those lips of blisses-
I am poison'd by thy kisses!
Yet, again, ah! turn them to me:
Ruin 's sweet, when they undo me!

Oh! be less, be less enchanting;
Let some little grace be wanting;
Let my eyes, when I'm expiring,
Gaze awhile without admiring!

I believe this epigram is originally French.-E.

NATURE'S LABELS.

A FRAGMENT.

In vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;

In vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagyrite:

And many a sage and learned skull

Has peep'd through windows dark and dull!
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor inward woman, from without
(Though, ma'am, you smile, as if in doubt),
I think 't were well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pretty short descriptions write,
In tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles.

There we might read of all-But stay-
As learned dialectics say,

The argument most apt and ample
For common use, is the example.
For instance, then, if Nature's care
Had not arranged those traits so fair,
Which speak the soul of Lucy L-nd-n,
This is the label she 'd have pinn'd on.

LABEL FIRST.

Within this vase there lies enshrined
The purest, brightest gem of mind!
Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw
Upon its charms the shade of woe,
The lustre of the when veil'd,
gem,
Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd.

Now, sirs, imagine, if you 're able,
That Nature wrote a second label,
They 're her own words—at least suppose so-
And boldly pin it on Pomposo.

LABEL SECOND.

When I composed the fustian brain
Of this redoubted Captain Vain,
I had at hand but few ingredients,
And so was forced to use expedients.
I put therein some small discerning,
A grain of sense, a grain of learning;
And when I saw the void behind,
I fill'd it up with-froth and wind!

TO MRS M

SWEET lady! look not thus again:
Those little pouting smiles recal
A maid remember'd now with pain,
Who was my love, my life, my all!

Oh! while this heart delirious took

Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look, And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh!

Yes, I did love her-madly love

She was the sweetest, best deceiver! And oft she swore she 'd never rove!

And I was destined to believe her!

Then, lady, do not wear the smile
Of her whose smile could thus betray:
Alas! I think the lovely wile

Again might steal my heart away.

And when the spell that stole my mind
On lips so pure as thine I see,

I fear the heart which she resign'd
Will err again, and fly to thee!

SONG.

WHY, the world are all thinking about it; And, as for myself, I can swear,

If I fancied that heaven were without it, I'd scarce feel a wish to go there.

If Mahomet would but receive me,
And Paradise be as he paints,
I'm greatly afraid, God forgive me!
I'd worship the eyes of his saints.

But why should I think of a trip
To the Prophet's seraglio above,
When Phillida gives me her lip,

As my own little heaven of love?

Oh, Phillis! that kiss may be sweeter
Than ever by mortal was given;
But your lip, love! is only St Peter,
And keeps but the key to your heaven!

TO JULIA.

Mock me no more with love's beguiling dream,
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:
One smile of friendship, nay of cold esteem,
Is dearer far than passion's bland deceit!

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare;

Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air?

And must I say, my hopes were all deceived?

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal : Julia! 't is pity, pity makes you kind;

You know I love, and you would seem to feel.

But shall I still go revel in those arms

On bliss in which affection takes no part? No, no! farewell! you give me but your charms, When I had fondly thought you gave your heart.

IMPROMPTU.

Look in my eyes, my blushing fair!
Thou 'It see thyself reflected there;
And, as I gaze on thine, I see
Two little miniatures of me:

Thus in our looks some propagation lies, For we make babies in each other's eyes!

TO ROSA.

Does the harp of Rosa slumber?
Once it breathed the sweetest number!
Never does a wilder song
Steal the breezy lyre along,
When the wind, in odours dying,
Woos it with enamour'd sighing.
Does the harp of Rosa cease?
Once it told a tale of peace

To her lover's throbbing breast-
Then he was divinely blest!
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's
song is o'er;
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp-forgotten lover-
Rosa's love and song are over!

SULPICIA

SYMPATHY.

TO JULIA.

-sine me sit nulla Venus.

OUR hearts, my love, were doom'd to be.

The genuine twins of Sympathy:

They live with one sensation : In joy or grief, but most in love, Our heart-strings musically move, And thrill with like vibration.

How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play
When mine no more is moving!
Since, now, to feel a joy alone

Were worse to thee than feeling none:
Such sympathy in loving!

And, oh! how often in those eyes,
Which melting beam'd like azure skies
In dewy vernal weather-
How often have I raptured read
The burning glance, that silent said,
Now, love, we feel together?

TO JULIA.

I SAW the peasant's hand unkind From yonder oak the ivy sever; They seem'd in very being twined; Yet now the oak is fresh as ever.

Not so the widow'd ivy shines:

Torn from its dear and only stay, In drooping widowhood it pines,

And scatters all its blooms away! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine,

Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties: Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, While mine, deserted, droops and dies!

Think that thou givest thy dearest kiss,
And I will think I feel the bliss,
Then, if thou blush, that blush be mine;
And, if I weep, the tear be thine!

*

Oh! why should Platonic control, love,

Enchain an emotion so free?
Your soul, though a very sweet soul, love,
Will ne'er be sufficient for me.

If you think, by this coolness and scorning,
To seem more angelic and bright,
Be an angel, my love, in the morning,
But, oh! be a woman to-night!

245

ΤΟ

CAN I again that form caress,

Or on that lip in rapture twine? No, no! the lip that all may press

Shall never more be press'd by mine.

Can I again that look recal

Which once could make me die for thee? No, no! the eye that burns on all

Shall never more be prized by me!

WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF OF A LADY'S
COMMON-PLACE BOOK.

HERE is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet has been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To write my name for ever there!

SONG.

AWAY with this pouting and sadness! Sweet girl! will you never give o'er? I love you, by Heaven! to madness,

And what can I swear to you more? Believe not the old woman's fable,

That oaths are as short as a kiss; I'll love you as long as I'm able, And swear for no longer than this.

Then waste not the time with professions;
For not to be blest when we can
Is one of the darkest transgressions

That happen 'twixt woman and man.—
Pretty moralist! why thus beginning
My innocent warmth to reprove?
Heaven knows that I never loved sinning-
Except little sinnings in love!

If swearing, however, will do it,

Come, bring me the calendar, pray-
I vow by that lip I'll go through it,
And not miss a saint on my way.
The angels shall help me to wheedle;
I'll swear upon every one

That e'er danced on the point of a needle,'

Or rode on a beam of the sun!

AN ARGUMENT. TO ANY PHILLIS OR CHLOE. I've oft been told by learned friars,

That wishing and the crime are one,

And Heaven punishes desires

As much as if the deed were done.

If wishing damns us, you and I

Are damn'd to all our heart's content;

Come then, at least we may enjoy

Some pleasure for our punishment!

TO ROSA.

WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS.

THE wisest soul, by anguish torn,
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew;
And when the shrining casket 's worn,
The gem within will tarnish too.

But love's an essence of the soul,

Which sinks not with this chain of clayWhich throbs beyond the chill control Of withering pain or pale decay.

And surely when the touch of death Dissolves the spirit's mortal ties, Love still attends the soaring breath, And makes it purer for the skies!

Oh, Rosa! when, to seek its sphere, My soul shall leave this orb of men, That love it found so blissful here

Shall be its best of blisses then!

And, as in fabled dreams of old,

Some airy genius, child of time, Presided o'er each star that roll'd,

And track'd it through its path sublime;

So thou, fair planet, not unled,

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray;
Thy lover's shade, divinely wed,
Shall linger round thy wandering way.

Let other spirits range the sky,

And brighten in the solar gem; I'll bask beneath that lucid eye, Nor envy worlds of suns to them!

And oh! if airy shapes may steal

To mingle with a mortal frame, Then, then, my love!-but drop the veil! Hide, hide from Heaven the unholy flame.

No!-when that heart shall cease to beat,

And when that breath at length is free;
Then, Rosa, soul to soul we 'll meet,
And mingle to eternity.

ANACREONTIQUE.

•—in lacrymas verterat omne merum. Tia. lib. i, eleg. 5,

PRESS the grape, and let it pour Around the board its purple shower; And while the drops my goblet steep, I'll think-in woe the clusters weep.

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine!
Heaven grant no tears, but tears of wine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe!

ANACREONTIQUE.

FRIEND of my soul! this goblet sip,
"T will chase that pensive tear;
'T is not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, oh! 't is more sincere.
Like her delusive beam,

'T will steal away thy mind;
But, like affection's dream,

It leaves no sting behind!

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;
These flowers were cull'd at noon;-

Like woman's love the rose will fade,
But ah! not half so soon!

For, though the flower 's decay'd,
Its fragrance is not o'er;

But once when love 's betray'd,

The heart can bloom no more!

. Neither do I condemn thee! go, and sin no more!ST JOHN, chap. viii.

On, woman, if by simple wile

Thy soul has stray'd from honour's track, 'T is mercy only can beguile,

By gentle ways, the wanderer back.

The stain that on thy virtue lies,

Wash'd by thy tears may yet decay; As clouds that sully morning skies May all be wept in showers away.

Go, go-be innocent, and live

The tongues of men may wound thee sore;

But Heaven in pity can forgive,

And bids thee Go, and sin no more!.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE.

Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum.-SECUNDUS, eleg, vii.

STILL the question I must parry,

Still a wayward truant prove:
Where I love, I must not marry,
Where I marry, cannot love.

Were she fairest of creation,
With the least presuming mind;
Learned without affectation;
Not deceitful, yet refined;

Wise enough, but never rigid;

Gay, but not too lightly free; Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid; Warm, yet satisfied with me:

Were she all this, ten times over, All that Heaven to earth allows,

I should be too much her lover Ever to become her spouse.