ON LOVE. LOVE's no irregular desire, That sings of darts, despair, and chains, Nor does it centre in the beau, Who sighs by rule, in order dies; Whose ALL consists in outward shew, And want of wit by dress supplies. No; Love is something so divine, Description would but make it less : 'Tis what we feel, but can't define; 'Tis what we know, but can't express. Weekly Amusement. SONG. THE parent bird, whose little nest But soon as nature plumes their wings, Regardless where they rove. But hapless we, of human race, For children, as their years increase, Paternal love can never cease, But ever will remain. Mary Goldsmith. SONG. WHEN first this humble roof I knew, By mutual toil our board was dress'd, Content and peace the dwelling shar'd, In them was giv'n, tho' gold was spar'd, No value has a splendid lot, But as the means to prove That, from the castle to the cot, Myrtle und Vine. SONG. I HAVE a silent sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart, It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, This cherish'd woe, this lov'd despair, My lot for ever be; So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear And when pale characters of death When my poor wasted trembling breath, I shall not raise my eyes to heav'n, My soul despairs to be forgiv'n, Sheridan. THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. ONE April morn, reclin’d in bed, "Fie, fie!" she cry'd, "why sleep so long, "Hark! you may hear her cherub voice: The voice of Health is sweet and clear: Yes, you may hear the birds rejoice I rose, and hasten'd to the grove, And hop'd the promis'd nymph to find. My fairy took me by the hand, And cheerfully we stepp'd along ; She stopp'd, but on the new-plough'd land, To hear the russet woodlark's song. |