CLOE to LYSANDER.

OF vagrant loves, and fickle flames

Lyfander's Mufe may tell,

And fure fuch artless freedom claims

His Cloe's best farewel,

To the Memory of an agreeable LADY bury'd in Marriage to a Perfon undeserving

her.

'T

W AS always held, and ever will,

By fage mankind, difcreeter

T'anticipate a leffer ill

Than undergo a greater,

An ELEGY, written on VALENTINE Morning.

H

By

ARK, thro' the facred filence of the night,
Loud Chanticleer doth found his clarion fhrill,
Hailing with fong the first pale gleam of light,
That floats the dark brow of yon eastern hill.

Bright ftar of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave,
To deck the dewy frontlet of the day,
Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus' cave,
Nor drive retiring darknefs yet away,

Ere these my ruftic hands a garland twine,
Ere yet my tongue indite a simple song,
For her I mean to hail my Valentine,

Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.

Sweet is the morn, and sweet the gentle breeze
That fans the fragrant bofom of the spring,
Sweet chirps the lark, and fweeter far than these
The gentle love-fong gurgling turtles fing.

Oh let the flowers be fragrant as the morn,
And as the turtle's fong my ditty sweet:
Those flowers my woven chaplet muft adorn,
That ditty muft my waking charmer greet.

And

And thou, bleft faint, whom choral creatures join
In one enlivening fymphony to hail,
Oh be propitious, gentle Valentine,
And let each holy tender figh prevail.

Oh give me to approach my fleeping love,
And ftrew her pillow with the freshest flowers,
No figh unhallow'd shall my bofom move,

Nor ftep prophame pollute my true-love's bowers.

At facred diftance only will I gaze,

Nor bid my unreproved eye refrain,

Mean while my tongue fhall chaunt her beauty's praise, And hail her fleeping with the gentlest strain.

"Awake my fair, awake, for it is time;
Hark, thousand songsters rife from yonder grove,
And rifing carol this fweet hour of prime,
Each to his mate, a roundelay of love.

All nature fings the hymeneal fong,

All nature follows, where the fpring invites Come forth my love, to us thefe joys belong, Ours is the fpring, and all her young delights,

For us fhe throws profufely forth her flowers,
Which in fresh chaplets joyful I will twine;
Come forth my fair, oh do not lose these hours,

But wake, and be my faithful Valentine.

Foll

Full many an hour, all lonely have I figh❜d,
Nor dared the secret of my love reveal,
Full many a fond expedient have I tried
My warmeft wifh in filence to conceal.

And oft to far retired folitude

All mournfully my flow ftep have I bent, Luxurious there indulg'd my mufing mood,

And there alone have given my forrows vent.

This day refolv'd I dare to plight my vow,

This day, long fince the feast of love decreed, Embolden'd will I speak my flame, nor thou Refuse to hear how fore my heart does bleed."

Yet if I fhould behold my love awake,

Ah frail refolves, ah whither will ye fly? Full well I know I fhall not filence break,

But ftruck with awe almoft for fear shall die.

Oh no, I will not trust a fault'ring speech

In broken phrafe an aukward tale to tell,
A tale, whofe tenderness no tongue can reach,
Nor fofteft melody can utter well.

But

my meek eye, best herald to my heart, I will compofe to foft and downcaft look, And at one humble glance it fhall impart

My love, nor fear the language be mistook.