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The wealth of Golconda could never have bought
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.
While thou, within this lonely heart,
Within the cloister's holy cell
And there I'll pour the ceaseless tear
And strive by one incessant prayer,
And, oh! until it breathe its last,
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested.
A sprig her fair breast to adorn ;
No, by heavens! I exclaimed, may I perish, if ever I plant in thy bosom a thoru.
Then I shew'd her a ring, and implor'd her to
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 ROSE.
When first I saw Flora, so sprightly and blooming, She enamoured my fancy devoid of all art; Then Marian, the gentle, soft, sweet, unassuming,
Appeared, and with Flora divided my heart. My poesy of love two sweet flow'rets compose, My Marian's my lily, and Flora's my rose.
How happy with Marian could I be united! Yet to part with sweet Flora, ah! could I consent ?
And if with her hand my Flora requited,
The thoughts of dear Marian might banish content,
My poesy of love might wound my repose,
So my mind to declare still embarrassed I tarry; How can I ask one when enamoured of both? Then weave me a cypress, for ne'er can I marry, For the tongue that would falter must ne'er take the oath.
My poesy of love can but anguish disclose,
WHEN PHEBUS WAKES THE ROSY
When Phoebus wakes the rosy hours,
And thus from morning until night,
With cheerful sound, &c.
I'LL LOVE THEE EVER DEARLY.
Let others love the melting sigh,
And swear they love to madness,
While truth and honest love are thine,
Ne'er spurn the heart that woos with smiles,man's t
For smiles were made for lovers,
And though no tender vows are mine,
Yet this I swear sincerely,.
te well opening The sweet
Then, lady, though I scorn the wiles
Which love too oft discovers,
A Woman's love's the ruffled sea,
A woman's reason's thistle down,
But has not settl'd away,
A woman's virtue is a star
And chilis us with its light.
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;
Yet woman, she has all that's blest,
For nature form'd her as the best
And oh! I will, while verse exalts
PRIMROSES DECK THE BANK.