Purfled by Nature's hand.-The amorous air Her mantle proud to swell, and wanton with her hair. Her hair, but rather threads of light it seems,With the gay honours of the Spring entwined, Copious, unbound, in nectar'd ringlets streams, Floats glitt'ring on the sun, and scents the wind, Love-sick with odors.-Now to order roll'd It melts upon her bosom's dainty mould, Or curling round her waist, disparts its wavy gold. Young circling roses blushing round them throw On zephyr's wing the laughing goddess view, The ravages of winter to repair, L She gives her naked bosom to the gales, Her naked bosom down the ether sails; Her bosom breathes delight; her breath the spring exhales. THE LOVER'S NIGHT. BY THE SAME. LULL'D in the arms of him she loved Her fond surrender he approved With smiles; and thus enamour'd sings ; "How sweet are lovers' vows by night, "Soft as the silent-footed dews "That steal upon the star-light hours; "Warm as a love-sick poet's muse, "And fragrant as the breath of flow'rs. "To hear our vows the moon grows pale, "And pants Endymion's warmth to prove : "While emulous the nightingale "The silver-sounding shining spheres, "That animate the glowing skies, "Nor charm so much as thou my ears, "Nor bless so much as thou my eyes. "Thus let me clasp thee to my heart, "Censorious envy dares not blame "The passion which thy truth inspires: "Ye stars, bear witness that my flame " Is chaste as your eternal fires.” Love saw them, hid among the boughs "Enjoy," cried he, " Ianthe's vows, "But oh !-I envy thee her kiss." TO LAURA, BY SHENSTONE. SURVEY, my fair, that lucid stream Adown the smiling valley stray; Would art attempt, or fancy dream, To regulate its winding way? So pleased I view thy shining hair Survey again that verdant hill, With native plants enamell'd o'er ; Say, can the painter's utmost skill Instruct one flower to please us more? As vain it were, with artful dye, To change the bloom thy cheeks disclose; And oh may Laura, ere she try, With fresh vermillion paint the rose, Hark, how the woodlark's tuneful throat Can every studied grace excel, Let art constrain the rambling note, And will she, Laura, please so well? Oh ever keep thy native ease, THE FLOWER OF YARROW. BY HAMILTON. Go Yarrow flower, thou shalt be blest, Is there on earth so soft a dwelling? Go, lovely flower, thou prettiest flower, That ever smiled in Yarrow bower; |