THE ROSE RETURNED,

IN ANSWER.

Go, lovely Rose!

Tell him that wastes his time on me,

That now he knows,

When he resembles me to thee,

How dang'rous female beauties be.

Tell him, while young,
Who fain wou'd have my graces spy'd,

That hadst thou sprung

In desarts, where no men abide,

Thou hadst not thus untimely dy'd.

Calm is the breast

Of beauty, from the light retir'd;

And peace her guest,

Who wishes not to be desir'd;

Still hadst thon flourish'd, unadmir'd.

Go die! that he

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee,

Pluck'd from thy stem no more to share

Of ought that made the sweet or fair.

County Magazine.

SONG.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

SHOULD you ask me what female desert I require,

To relish the conjugal life;

Nor beauty, nor titles, nor wealth I desire,
To bias my choice in a wife;

The charms of a face may occasion a sigh ;
The costly allurements of art

May yield a short moment of joy to the eye,
But give no delight to the heart.

Would equipage, splendor, or noble descent,
Bring comfort wherever they fall,

Cou'd these add a drop to the cup of content,
I'd gladly partake of them all;

But vain the assistance proud riches bestow,
The raptures that beauties impart,

To soften the painful reflections of woe,

Then give me the temper unclouded and gay,

The countenance ever serene,

To cheer with sweet converse as youth wears away,
And dissipate anger and spleen;

Whose smiles may endear and enliven the hours
Retirement shall oft set apart;

Whose virtues may sooth, when disquietude sours,
And tenderness cherish the heart.

For fortune, be honour her portion assign'd;
For beauty, bright health's rosy bloom;
Let justice and candour enoble her mind,
And cheerfulness banish the gloom:

Thus form'd, would she share with me life's little store,
Its mixture of pleasure and smart,

She'd ever continue, 'till I was no more,

The constant delight of my heart.

County Magazine.

ORDERS TO MY PORTER.

THOU faithful guardian of these happy walls,
Whose honest zeal protects thy master's gate,
If any stranger at this mansion calls,

I'll tell thee who shall enter, who shall wait.

If Fortune, blindfold dame, shall chance to knock, Or proud Ambition court me to her arms,

"Shut, shut the door, good John," and turn the lock, And hide thy master from their syren charms.

For in their dismal train, as black as night,

Come hideous care and sullen melancholy, And song, and joy, and laughter take their flight, Nor leave one precious moment to dear folly.

If at my door a beauteous boy be seen,
(His little feet have oft my threshold trod)
You'll know the offspring of the Cyprian queen,
His air, without his bow, betrays the god.

His magic smiles admission always win,

Tho' oft deceiv'd, I love the dear deluder; Morn, noon, or night, besure to let him in, For welcome, love is never an intruder.

Should sober Wisdom hither deign to roam,
Nor let her in, nor drive her quite away;
Tell her at present, "I am not at home,
But hope she'll visit me another day."

County Magazine.

THE CONFESSION.

TO MISS E. L.

In vain I strive my heart to shield,
Spite of myself that heart will yield;
In vain would hide a thousand ways,
What ev'ry conscious look betrays.

The jest assum'd, th' averted eye
Poorly conceal the stifled sigh;
Each stolen touch, which love impels,
The heart's emotion trembling tells.

Yet not Eliza's charms alone,
Could ruling reason thus dethrone;
Her blooming graces, tho' with pain,
My cautious bosom might sustain.

But arm'd with that enchanting mien,
Which speaks the feeling mind within;
How can my soften'd breast be free,
Thus caught by sensibility?

Yet not for me the tear will start,
Which proves Eliza's tender heart;
Yet not for me the smile will speak,
Which brightens in Eliza's cheek:

Lost in the whirl of fashion'd life,
Where nature is with joy at strife;
Her unembarrass'd looks declare
That love is not triumphant there:

Lur'd by the hope of gaudier days,
The pompous banners Wealth displays;
Each fond emotion distant keeps,
And all her native softness sleeps.

Ibid.