I durft have fworn I lov'd before, But what was all fuch grief or joy, That did my heedlefs ears employ? Mere dreams of feign'd fantastic powers, But the difeafe of idle hours; Amusement, humour, affectation, Compar'd with this fublimer paffion, Whofe raptures, bright as those above, Outshine the flames of zeal or love. Yet think not, faireft, what I fing, Would force a bleffing from those charms, BR RIGHT and blooming as the spring, All our fwains thy praises fing, Ever gazing and admiring. NYMPH. Praises in fo high a ftrain, SHEPHERD. I fhould have despair'd among But your eyes have made me young, By their smiling on me daily. NYMPH, Idle boys admire us blindly, Are inconftant, wild, and bold; And your ufing me so kindly Is a proof you are not old. SHEP SHEPHERD. With thy pleafing voice and fashion, Chear my foul, and crown my paffion : NYMPH. With thy careful arts to cover That which fools will count a fault, Trueft friend as well as lover, Oh! deferve fo kind a thought. EACH APART FIRST, AND THEN BOTH TOGETHER. Happy we fhall lie poffeffing, Folded in each other's arms. Love and Nature's chiefeft bleffing In the ftill increafing charms. So the dearest joys of loving, Which scarce heaven can go beyond, We'll be every day improving, S SHEPHERD, You more fair, and I'more fond. NYMPH. I more fair, and you more fond. On One who died discovering her Kindness, OM E vex their fouls with jealous pain, While others figh for cold diflain: Love's various flaves we daily fee! Of all mankind, I lov'd the best A nymph fo far above the rest, That we outshin'd the bleft above, And therefore they who could not bear All other fate I could have borne, ON LUCINDA'S C° The DEATH. O ME all ye doleful, dismal cares, Who now have loft--- but oh! how much? Except my grief! for she was such, That praifes would but make her lefs. Yet who can ever dare to raise His voice on her, unless to praise ? Free Free from her fex's smallest faults, And fair as womankind can be : TO A LADY RETIRING INTO A MONASTERY. WHAT breaft but yours can hold the double fire Of fierce devotion, and of fond defire ? Love would fhine forth, were not your zeal fo bright Heaven fees our paffions with indulgence ftill Should the world frown, yet what have we to fear? Fame, wealth, and power, those high-priz'd gifts of fate, The low concerns of a lefs happy state, Are far beneath us: fortune's self may take Her aim at us, yet no impreffion make; |