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النشر الإلكتروني

ON A

FLOWER

WHICH

Belinda gave me from her Bosom.

By Mr. B ROOM E.

SAX, lovely off-spring of the May

AY, lovely Off-spring of the May,

So sweetly fair, so richly gay; Say, where a Flow'r fo beauteous grows, Or whence thy balmy Odour flows. Such balmy Odour is not found, On Indian nor Arabian Ground: A Store of such a rich Perfume Must from Belinda's Bofom come; Thence, thence such Sweets are spread abroad As might be Incense for a God.

But

But while, sweet Gift, thy Glories laft,
(Which O! tho' great must quickly waste,)
Shew, by thy Beauties and Perfumes,
Shew fair Belinda how she blooms.
Put on thy Charms, thy faireft Dress,
And when they all are on, confess
How much they all than hers are less.
Then by a fudden swift Decay
Let all thy Beauties fade away,"
And let her in thy Glass descry
How Youth, and how soft Beauty die.

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And lo! it droops, and fades, and dies,
And with faint Sweets perfumes the Skies.
It folds its Leaves, and theds its Hue,
Tho’while 'twas Yours it charm'd the View
As when it in the Garden grew.
The fragrant Flow'rs of Eden so
In Paradise would only grow;

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So the sweet-smelling Indian Flow'rs, Griev'd when they leave those happy Shores, Sicken and pine away in ours.

I now, as once I did, no more
Deride th’ Ægyptians, that adore
The rising Herb and blooming Flow'r.
Now, now their Convert I will bę,
O lovely Flow'r, to worship thee.

But if thou’rt one of their fad Train,
That dy'd for Love, and cold Disdain;
That, chang d by some kind pitying Pow'r,
A Loyer oncé, art now a Flow'r;
O picy me, Q weep my Care,
A thousand, thousand Pains I bear,
I love, I die thro' sad Despair,

}

Ovid. Amor. Eleg. 16. Lib. 2.

To his MISTRESS.

By Mr. CROMWELL.

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VL MO's one Third of the Pelinian Land,

Whose little Space indulgent Nature fram'd For all the Pleafures of a sweet Retreat; And here has bounteous Fortune fix'd my Seat: Here o’er the Grounds a pleasing Verdure spreads, And the bright Streams enamel all the Meads; Here Corn and Wine enrich the fruitful Fields, And the kind Soil the luscious Olive yields: Thop

now the raging Dog-Star mounted high Cleaves the parch'd Earth,and blasts the sultry Sky;

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Yet shady Groves, where a refreshing Breeze
In gentle Whispers fans the ņeighbouring Trees,
And Rivlets which in various Windings run
Rebate the fierce Approaches of the Sun.
Far off is the fair Author of my Flame!
Yet ardent Love is here, and Love is still the fame.
Curs'd be the Man who taught us first to Rove,
If we must thus abandon all we Love ;
There's no supporting of your Abfence, here,
Tho? Paradise was open'd all the Year;:
I'd sooner a Coelestial Orb forgo,
Than gain it, by fo vast a Lofs as you:
But with a Mistress charming Presence bleft
With Pleasure might the rugged Alps be pafix
The Lybian Syrtes, and Numidian Waste.

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i ; With you I'd trust my Sails to Southern Wind; To Scylla’s Rock, Charybdis-Gulph resign’d And cast all Fear of future Ills behind :

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