'Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes, 'Tis not that hair which plays with every wind, Now straying o'er thy forehead, now behind 'Tis not that lovely range of teeth, as white Nor e'en that gentle smile, the heart's delight, 'Tis not the living colours over each, By nature's finest pencil wrought, To shame the fresh-blown rose and blooming peach, And mock the happiest painter's thought: But 'tis that gentle mind, that ardent love, So kindly answering my desire;~~~~ That grace with which you look, and speak, and move, That thus have set my soul on fire. WHILE, Strephon, thus you tease one To say what won my heart, It cannot, sure, be treason, 'Twas not your smile, tho' charming, 'Twas not your dress, tho' shining, No:-'twas your generous nature, Bold, soft, sincere, and gay : It shone in every feature, And stole my heart away. WHISTLER. THE shape alone let others prize, The features of the fair; I look for spirit in her eyes, And meaning in her air. A damask cheek and ivory arm Give me an animated form That speaks a mind within; Aface where awful honour shines, And angel innocence refines The tenderness of love. These are the soul of beauty's frame, Without whose vital aid Unfinisht all her features seem, And all her roses dead. But ah! where both their charms unite, With every image of delight, With graces ever new! I 2 Of Of power to charm the deepest woe, Their power but faintly to express But go behold Aspasia's face, And read it perfect there. AKENSIDE.* KITTY's charming voice and face, KITTY tunes her pipe in vain With airs most languishing and dying; And tries in vain to shoot me flying. * Assigned to this author by Ritson, but not contained in his Works. NANCY, NANCY, with resistless art, Always humorous, gay and witty, Has talk'd herself into my heart, And quite excluded tuneful KITTY. Ah KITTY! Love, a wanton boy, Now pleased with song, and now with prattle, Still longing for the newest toy, Has changed his whistle for a rattle. Wor OULDST thou know her sacred charms What kind of nymph the heavens decree Who pants to hear the sigh sincere, Who joys whene'er she sees me glad, For |