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When first I dar’d by soft surprise
To breathe my love in Flavia's ear,
Of trembling joy, and pleasing fear;
But soon the crimson glow return'd,
Ere half my passion was exprest, The eye that clos'd, the cheek that burn'd,
The quiv’ring lip, the panting breast, Shew'd that she wish'd, or thought me true, For what has art with love to do?
Ah! speak, I cry'd, thy soft assent:
She strove to speak, she could but sigh ; A glance more heav'nly eloquent,
Left language nothing to supply.
Ye practis’d nymphs, who form your charms
By fashion's rules, enjoy your skill; Torment your swains with false alarms,
And, ere you cure, pretend to kill : Still, still your sex's wiles pursue ; Such tricks she leaves to art and you..
Secure of native powers to please,,
My Flavia scorns all mean pretence;
Power of these awful regions, hail!
For sure some mighty genius roves With step unheard, or loves to sail
Unseen, aloug these cliffs and groves.
O'er the wild mountain's stormy waste,
And rocks by mortal feet untrod;
More bright we view the present God.
More bright, than if in glittering state
The pride of Phidian art confessd--
weary, wanderer, rest.
But if from rest and silence torn,
And these lov'd scènes, I roam afar, By fate's returning surge down borne,
To toss in care's tumultuous war;
Grant me, secure from toil and strife,
And all the rabble's fev'rish rage,
Tom, ever jovial, ever gay,
To appetite a slave,
away, , And laughs to see me grave.
'Tis thus that we two disagree,
So diff'rent is our whim; The fellow idly laughs at ine,
While I could cry for him.
Steen Winter ! though thy rugged reign
And though the light-wing'd breeze no more
Then, what avail thy wind and storm,
Thus, when the bloom of youth is dead,
THE EXCHANGE OF HEARTS.
We pledg’d our loves, my love and I,
Me in her arms the maiden clasping, I could not guess the reason why,
But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.
Her father's leave she bid me gain,
I went, but shook like any reed,