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CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.
MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit, Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes; Lené sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.
II. Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia criues, Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà positam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. III.
Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt,
Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta ineis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ, Tota anima interea pendet a bore Chlöes.
IV. Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo; Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.
TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.
AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.
The keenest frost that binds the stream,
But man, all-feeling and awake,
And, if a tear, that speaks regret
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON,
(NOW MRS. COURTNEY.)
SHE came-she is gone-we have met-
And seems to have risen in vain.
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) But has left a regret and esteem, That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmed with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who had witnessed so lately her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteemed
The work of my fancy the more, And ev'n to myself never seemed So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; "For the close-woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than all that the city can show.
So it is when the mind is endued
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice,
To inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
And by Philomels annual note
To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
She will have just the life she prefers,
THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.
A HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold