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Maria, come! Now let us rove,

Now gather garlands in the grove,

Of every new-fprung flower;

We'll hear the warblings of the wood,

We'll trace the windings of the flood;

O come Thou, fairer than the bud

Unfolding in a shower!

Fair as the lily of the vale,

That gives its bosom to the gale

And opens in the Sun;

And sweeter than thy favourite dove,

The Venus of the vernal grove,

Announcing to the choirs of love

Their time of bliss begun.

Now,

Now, now, thy Spring of Life appears;

Fair in the morning of thy years,

And May of Beauty crown'd:
Now vernal visions meet thine eyes,
Poetic dreams to fancy rise,

And brighter days in better skies ;-
Elysium blooms around.

Now, now's the morning of thy day;
But, ah! the morning flies away,
And youth is on the wing;
'Tis Nature's voice, " O pull the rofe,
"Now while the bud in beauty blows,
" Now while the opening leaves difclofe
"The incenfe of the Spring!"

What

What youth, high-favour'd of the skies,

What youth fhall win the brightest prize

That Nature has in store?

Whose confcious eyes shall meet with thine;
Whose arms thy yielding waste entwine;

Who, ravish'd with thy charms divine,
Requires of Heaven no more!

Not happier the Primæval Pair,

When new-made earth, fupremely fair,

Smiled on her virgin Spring;

When all was fair to God's own eye,

When stars consenting fung on high,

And all Heaven's Chorus made the sky

With Hallellujahs ring.

Devoted

Devoted to the Muses' choir,

I tune the Caledonian lyre

To themes of high renown :No other theme than You I'll chuse, Than You invoke no other Muse: Nor will that gentle hand refuse Thy Bard with bays to crown.

Where hills by storied streams afcend,

My dreams and waking wishes tend
Poetic ease to woo;

Where Fairy fingers curl the grove,
Where Grecian Spirits round me rove,

Alone Inamour'd with the love

Of Nature and of You!

S ON G.

T

HE day is departed, and round from the cloud
The Moon in her beauty appears;

The voice of the Nightingale warbles aloud
The music of love in our ears:
Maria, appear! now the season so sweet
With the beat of the heart is in tune,
The time is so tender for lovers to meet
Alone by the light of the Moon,

I cannot when present unfold what I feel,
I figh-Can a lover do more?

Her name to the shepherds I never reveal,
Yet I think of her all the day o'er.

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