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Fickle bliss, fantastic treasure,ged by

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove Thomson
From all uneasy passions free, Sheffield D. of Buck.

From her, alas ! whose smile was love,

Wolcott.

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From place to place, forlorn, I go
From thy waves, stormy Lannow, I fly, Anna Seward.
jou

Gentle air, thou breath of lovers,

Give me more love or more disdain ; Carew.

Go, lovely rose ! Waller.

Go, plaintive sounds! and to the fair
Go tell Amynta, gentle swain, Dryden.
Good madam, when ladies are willing,

Hail to the myrtle shade, Lee.
Hard is the fate of him who loves,
Have you not seen the timid tear
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Honest lover, whosoever,
How bright the sun's declining rays

Carew.

Suckling.

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Lady M. W. Montagu.

I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
I did but look and love awhile,

I have a silent sorrow here,

1 mark'd his madly-rolling eye,

Hamilton.

Thomson.

Little.

J. Conder.

Otway.

R. B. Sheridan.
W.

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I pr'ythee send me back my heart,

Suckling.

I talk'd to my fluttering heart, Laura Sophia Temple.

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I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve, Congreve. 207
If in that breast, so good, so pure,
Sir J. Moore.

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Bryan Edwards. * 227}

Goldsmith. *

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O clear that cruel doubting brow!

O memory! thou fond deceiver,

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me,

O Nymph! of Fortune's smiles beware Wolcott.
O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren and bare,
Cunningham.

Oft on the troubled ocean's face

Oh! Henry, sure by every art

Oh! turn away those cruel eyes,
Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

On Belvidera's bosom lying, A. Phillips.
On every hill, in every grove, Dalton.
One morning very early, one morning in the spring,

Walter Scott.

Dalton.

Lansdown.

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Say, sweet carol! who are they Joanna Baillie.
Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me, Donne
Shall I, wasting in despair,
G. Wither.

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Cowley.

She loves, and she confesses too;
Should some perverse malignant star
Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires,
Stella and Flavia every hour
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
Strephon has fashion, wit and youth,
Strephon, when you see me fly
Swain, thy hopeless passion smother,
Sweet maid, I hear thy frequent sigh,

Burns.

Mrs. Pilkington.

B. Jonson.

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Mrs. Opie.

Waller.
Burns.

Take, oh take those lips away

Dr. Glynn.

Tease me no more, nor think I care

Tell me no more how fair she is; King Bp. of Chichester. 120

Tell my Strephon that I die;

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That which her slender waist confined

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Akenside.

The shape alone let others prize,
The sun was sunk beneath the hill,
The tears I shed must ever fall!
The thirsty earth drinks up the rain,
The wretch condemn'd with life to part Goldsmith.

Wolcott.

The wretch O let me never know

There is one dark and sullen hour

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