THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe's hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place Upon her brow, the various wreath ; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day:
And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest at evening, when she found
Their odours lost, their colours past;

She chang'd her look, and on the ground
Her garland, and her eye she cast.

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear,
As any Muse's tongue could speak,

When from its lid a pearly tear

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, said I, explain
This change of humour: prythee tell:
That falling tear-what does it mean?

She sigh'd; she smil'd; and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said;
See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder what a change is made.

Ah me! the blooming pride of May,
And that of beauty, are but one :
At morn both flourish bright and gay;

Both fade at evening, pale and gone.

At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The amorous youth around her bow'd; At night her fatał knell was rung ;

I saw, and kiss'd her in her shrowd.

Such as she is who dy'd to day :

Such I, alas! may be tomorrow: Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display

The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

VERSES ACCOMPANYING A NOSE-GAY.

Thou can'st not steal the rose's bloom,

To decorate thy face;

But the sweet blush of modesty,

Will lend an equal grace.

These violets scent the distant gale;
(They grew in lowly bed :)
So real worth new merit gains,
By diffidence o'erspread.

Nor wilt thou e'er that lily's white,
In thy complexion find;
Yet innocence may shine as fair,
Within thy spotless mind.

Now, in th' op'ning spring of life,
Let ev'ry flow'ret bloom:
The budding virtues in thy breast
Shall yield the best perfume.

This nosegay, in thy bosom plac'd,

A moral may convey:

For soon its brightest tints shall fade,
And all its sweets decay.

So short-liv'd are the lovely tribes,
Of Flora's transient reign:

They bud, blow, wither, fall, and die;
Then turn to earth again.

And thus, my dear, must ev'ry charm,
Which youth is proud to share ;
Alike this quick succession prove,
And the same truth declare.

Sickness will change the roseate hue, Which glowing health bespeaks; And age will wrinkle with its cares The smile on beauty's cheeks.

But as that fragrant myrtle wreath,
Will all the rest survive;

So shall the mental graces still,
Through endless ages live.

TO A LADY WITH A RING.

"Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed :-" So, sixteen years ago, I said—

Behold another ring! "for what?"
To wed thee o'er again—why not?

With that first ring I married youth, Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth; Taste, long admired; sense long rever'd; And all my Molly then appear'd.

If she, by merit since disclos'd,
Prov'd twice the woman I suppos'd,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow,

Here, then, to day (with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when amid the rights divine,
I took thy troth, and plighted mine.)

To thee, sweet girl! my second ring
A token, and a pledge I bring;
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;