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Oh! then how blest !-Ho' more to part,
To share his bliss his loves his glory;
How bright the sun's declining rays
Glitter on yonder ivied spire! How sweet the evening zephyr plays
Thro' those old trees that seem on fire! Beneath those trees how oft I've stray'd
With Mary, rapture in my eyes ! But now,
alas! beneath their shade All that remains of MARY lies !
Oh! can I e'er the scene forget? 'T was such an evening
this the places That first the lovely girl I met,
And gazed upon her angel face."
And brighten'd to a crimson hue;
And ah! her sun was sinking too.
She died--and at that very hour competes : 47
Hope broke her wand, and Pleasure fled. Life is a charm has lost its power, 147
Th’ enchantress of my days, is dead, :: Thåt sun-those scenes where oft I've stray'd
Transported, I no longer prize ; For now, alas ! beneath their shade
All that remains of Mary lies.
Wuen gentle Celia first I knew,
Reason and taste approved ;
And fondly thought I loved.
Till CHLORIS came, with sad surprise
Thro' all my senses run;
O Celia ! dear unhappy maid,
Which ought your scorn to move:
Yet still I feel I love.
Thy gentle smiles no more can please,
The torments I endure;
Nor e'en thy pity cure.
Oft shall I curse my iron chain,
With long and vain regret ;
I were thy captive yet.
But passion's wild impetuous sca
'T were vain to struggle more : Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies, While swelling tides around him rise,
And push his bark from shore,
In vain he spreads his helpless arms,
In vain deplore his state;
And foundering yields to fate.
Ip Love and Reason ne'er agree,
And Virtue tremble at his power,
And guard me thro' each tender hour!
But if the pleasures Love bestows
Are such as Reason pleased allows, Are such as smiling Virtuc knows,
To Love I'll pay my virgin vows.
And such they are : for loose desires
But ill deserve the tender name;
But Love's a pure and constant fame.
Lore scorns a sordid selfish bliss,
And only for its object lives ; Feels mutual truth endear the kiss,
And tastes no joys but those it gives.
Love's more than language can reveal,
Or thought can reach-tho' thought is free; 'Tis only felt—'t is what I feel,
And hope that Damon feels for mc.
IIEN first upon your tender cheek
With mild and cheering beam,
And you my darling theme.
I saw you in that opening morn
And first confess'd your sway ;