Not she for whom Cythera's bowers,
Or Apach's violated steep,
Or proud Assyria's guilty towers
Licentious revels wont to keep.
Thee rather, modest nymph! I greet,
The sage Athenian's chaster theme,
While echoed to his accents sweet
The olived roofs of Academe.

Still, goddess, thy permitted view
Charms more than mortal can reveal,
Instruct each sense to nature true,

The eye to judge, the heart to feel.
Within us dwell those forms divine
Which thy sole image can impart;
We rear to thee no marble shrine
Whose living temple is-the heart!

REV. T. PERCY.

LOVE AND AGE.

THE night was dark; the wind blew cold;
Anacreon, grown morose and old,

Sat by his fire, and fed the cheerful flame:
Sudden the cottage door expands,

And, lo! before him Cupid stands, [his name. Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by What! is it thou?' the startled sire

In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire

With crimson flush'd his pale and wrinkled cheek: 'Wouldst thou again with amorous rage Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age, [too weak. Vain boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are

'What seek you in this desert drear? No smiles or sports inhabit here;

Ne'er did these valleys witness dalliance sweet: Eternal winter binds the plains;

Age in my house despotic reigns;

[heat.

My garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no

'Begone, and seek the blooming bower, Where some ripe virgin courts thy power, Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; On Damon's amorous breast repose, Wanton on Chloe's lip of rose,

Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.

'Be such thy haunts! These regions cold Avoid! Nor think, grown wise and old, This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: Remembering that my fairest years

By thee were mark'd with sighs and tears, I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.

'I have not yet forgot the pains

I felt, while bound in Julia's chains? The ardent flames with which my bosom burn'd; The nights I passed deprived of rest;

The jealous pangs which rack'd my breast; My disappointed hopes and passion unreturn'd.

Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! Fly from my peaceful cottage door! No day, no hour, no moment shalt thou stay. I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts, Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts: Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!'

'Does age, old man, your wits confound?' Replied the offended god, and frowned; (His frown was sweet as is the virgin's smile!) 'Do you to me these words address? To me, who do not love you less,

Though you my friendship scorn, and pleasures past revile!

'If one proud fair you chanced to find, A hundred other nymphs were kind, Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone: But such is man! his partial hand Unnumber'd favours writes on sand,

But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.

6 Ingrate! Who led you to the wave, At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay? And who, when Celia shriek'd for aid, Bade you with kisses hush the maid? [say! What other was't than Love, oh! false Anacreon,

'Then you could call me-" Gentle boy! My only bliss! my source of joy !"

Then you could prize me dearer than your soul! Could kiss, and dance me on your knees; And swear, not wine itself would please,

Had not the lip of Love first touch'd the flowing bowl!

'Must those sweet days return no more? Must I for aye your loss deplore,

Banish'd your heart, and from your favour driven? Ah! no; my fears that smile denies;

That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes Declare me ever dear, and all my faults forgiven.

'Again beloved, esteemed, caress'd, Cupid shall in thine arms be press'd, Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep: My torch thine age-struck heart shall warm; My hand pale winter's rage disarm,

And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep.'

A feather now of golden hue

He smiling from his pinion drew:
This to the poet's hand the boy commits;
And straight before Anacreon's eyes

The fairest dreams of fancy rise,

And round his favour'd head wild inspiration flits.

His bosom glows with amorous fire;

Eager he grasps the magic lyre;

Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move:
The feather pluck'd from Cupid's wing
Sweeps the too long neglected string, [Love.
While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of

Soon as that name was heard, the woods
Shook off their snows; the melting floods

Broke their cold chains, and winter fled away.
Once more the earth was deck'd with flowers;
Mild zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers;
High tower'd the glorious sun, and poured the
blaze of day.

Attracted by the' harmonious sound, Sylvans and fauns the cot surround, And curious crowd the minstrel to behold: The woodnymphs haste the spell to prove; Eager they run; they list, they love, [is old. And, while they hear the strain, forget the man

Cupid, to nothing constant long, Perch'd on the harp attends the song, Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: Now on the poet's breast reposes,

Now twines his hoary locks with roses,

Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.

Then thus Anacreon- I no more

At other shrines my vows will pour, Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: From Phoebus or the blue-eyed maid Now shall my verse request no aid, For Love alone shall be the patron of my lyre.

'In lofty strain, of earlier days,

I spread the king's or hero's praise,
And struck the martial chords with epic fire:
But farewell, hero! farewell, king!

Your deeds my lips no more shall sing,
For Love alone shall be the subject of my lyre.'

M. G. LEWIS.

LOVE AT SALE.

COME buy my ware! come buy! come buy! Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh;

I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.

Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!

Though mild his looks, his arrows fear; Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.

He in this little form unites

The pangs of hell and heaven's delights;