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* Shall the bright daughter of the sun

Associate with the shrubs of earth? Ye slaves, your sou’reign's presence shun!

Respect her beauties, and her birth. ,

« And thou, dull, sullen evergreen!

Shalt thou my shining sphere invade? My noon-day beauties bloom unseen,

Obscur'd beneath thy dusky shade!”.

6 Deluded flower!” the myrtle cries,

“ Shall we thy moment's bloom adore ? The meanest shrub that you despise,

The meanest flower has merit more.

“ That daisy, in its simple bloom,

Shall last along the changing year; Blush on the snow of winter's gloom,

And bid the smiling spring appear.

The violet, that, those banks beneathy

Hides from thy scorn its modest head, Shall fill the air with fragrant breath,

When thou art in thy dusty bed.

“ E'en I, who boast no golden shade,

Am of no shining tints possess'd, .
When low thy lucid form is laid,

Shall bloom on many a lovely breast.

And he, whose kind and fost'ring care

To thee, to me, our beings gave, Shall near his breast my flowrets wear,

And walk regardless o'er thy grave.

“ Deluded flower! the friendly screen

That hides thee from the noon-tide ray, And mocks thy passion to be seen,

Prolongs thy transitory day.

« But kindly deeds with scorn repaid,

No more by virtue need be done: I now withdraw my dusky shade,

And yield thee to thy darling sun."

Fierce on the flower the scorching beam

With all its weight of glory fell; The flower, exulting, caught the gleam,

And lent its leaves a bolder swell,

Expanded by the searching fire,

The curling leaves the breast disclos'd ; The mantling bloom was painted higher,

And ev'ry latent charm expos’d,

But when the sun was sliding low,

And ev'ning came, with dews so cold; The wanton beauty ceas'd to blow,

And sought her bending leaves to fold. Those leaves, alas ! no more would close;

Relax'd, exhausted, sick’ning, pale;
They left her to a parent's woes,
And Aed before the rising gale.

London Magazine.

THE JUDICIOUS BACHANAL.

While the bottle to humour and social delight

The smallest assistance can lend; While it happily keeps up the laugh of the night,

Or enlivens the mind of a friend;

O let me enjoy it, ye bountiful powers,

That time may deliciously pass, And should Care ever think to intrude on these hours,

Scare the haggard away with the glass.

But, instead of a rational feast of good sense,

Should discord preside o'er the bowl, And folly, debate, or contention commence,

From too great an expansion of soul; ;

Should the man I esteem, or the friend of my breast,

In the ivy feel nought but the rod:
Should I make sweet Religion a profligate jest,

And daringly sport with my God,

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From my lips dash the poison, () merciful fate,

Where the madness or blasphemy bung, And let every accent which virtue should hate,

Parch quick on my in fainous tongue..

From my ear let the curse be eternally driven,

Where my reason so fatally stray'd, That no more I may offer an insult to heaven, Or give man a cause to upbraid.

Ibid.

THE OLD ENGLISHMAN.

I'll tell you why I love my love;
Because her thousand graces prove

Her worth is very high ;
She's very fair, and very good,
And not unwilling to be woo'd.

By one so plain as I.

Wherever muse has fir'd the strain,
On British, or on Tuscan plain,

Delighted has she rov'd;
Has glow'd with all the gen'rous rage
That animates the story'd page,

By British bosoms lov'd..

Oft has she sought, with careful feet,
The hallow'd hermit's calm retreat,

And trac'd with thought profound
Each precept of the wise and good;
There ev'ry wish has she subdu'd

To wisdom's narrow bound.

.

Has learn’d the flatt’ring paths to shun,
Where folly's fickle vot’ries run,

Deceiv'd by fortune's glare;
Has learn'd that food, and clothes, and fire,
Are only nature's plain desire,

Nor forms for more her pray'r.

Content with these, my Geraldine
Has promis'd to be ever mine,,,

For well she knows my heart;
She knows it honest and sincere,
And much too open to appear

Beneath the veil of art.

She knows it pants for her alone,
That not the splendour of a throne

From her my steps could lure;
To-morrow gives to these fond arms,
My Geraldine in all her charms,
And makes my bliss secure,

London Magazine.

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