The wealth of Golconda could never have bought her, For love, truth, and constancy still is her theme, Then give me, kind heaven, the cottager's daughter, That dwells on the borders of Alne's winding stream. THIS HEART IS ALL THY OWN. And cold is thy farewell! Must ever dearly dwell. There oft must burning mem'iy tell Thy triumph-and my fall. And strive by one incessant prayer, THE THORN. From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested. A sprig her fair breast to adorn ; No, by heavens! I exclined, may I perish, if ever I plant in thy bosom a thoru. Then I shew'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry, She blush'd like the dawning of morn; Yes, I'll consent, she replied, if you'll promise, That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn. No, by heavens! I exclaimed, may I perish, if ever I plant in that bosom a thorn. MARIAN'S MY LILY, AND FLORA'S MY When first I saw Flora, so sprightly and blooming, How happy with Marian could I be united! And if with her hand my Flora requited, The thoughts of dear Marian might banish content, My poesy of love might wound my repose, pine for the lily and droop for the rose. So my mind to declare still embarrassed I tarry; My poesy of love can but anguish disclose, WHEN PHOEBUS WAKES THE ROSY HOURS. When Phoebus wakes the rosy hours, And gives the cheering day Around on all his influence pours, The huntsmen hark away. While cheerful sounds the merry horn, O'er every hill and dale, The hunter's cry awakes the morn, While o'er the dewy lawns they fly, While cheerful sound, &c. And thus from morning until night, I'LL LOVE THEE EVER DEARLY. Let others love the melting sigh, While truth and honest love are thine, Then, lady, though I scorn the wiles Ne'er spurn the heart that woos with smiles, WOMAN. A Woman's love's the ruffled sea, A woman's reason's thistle down, Of words which it is wafted on, But bas not settl'd away, A woman's virtue is a star The tempting of a fiend 'twould tire, A woman's tongue's a busy bee, A woman's eyes, though bright and brisk And glance but to ensnare; Her beauty brings but pain; Yet woman, she has all that's blest, For nature form'd her as the best And fairest work of all! And oh! I will, while verse exalts Her name, where'er she be, Love, worship her, with all her faults, PRIMROSES DECK THE BANK. The blackbird woos his destin'd bride, |