LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.

THE roses of love glad the garden of life,

Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever in love's last adieu!

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen breast,

Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may renew: With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth, Love twined round their childhood his flowers as they

grew;

They flourish awhile in the season of truth,

Till chilled by the winter of love's last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?

Yet why do I ask?-to distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perished with love's last adieu!

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu!

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew ;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu!

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue: He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast; The shroud of affection is love's last adieu !

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due

From him who has worshipped at love's gentle shrine; The atonement is ample in love's last adieu!

Who kneels to the god on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu!

TO MARION.

MARION! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air:
Frowns become not one so fair.
"Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,

Some will love, and all admire;

While that icy aspect chills us,

Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;

Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.

Thy lips but here my modest Muse

Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:

She blushes, curt'sies, frowns,

in short, she

Dreads lest the subject should transport me;

And flying off in search of reason,

Brings prudence back in proper season.

די

All I shall therefore say (whate'er

I think, is neither here nor there), Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, Were formed for better things than sneering: Of soothing compliments divested, Advice at least 's disinterested; Such is my artless song to thee, From all the flow of flattery free; Counsel like mine is as a brother's, My heart is given to some others; That is to say, unskilled to cozen, It shares itself among a dozen. Marion, adieu! oh! pr'ythee slight not This warning, though it may delight not; And, lest my precepts be displeasing To those who think remonstrance teasing, At once I'll tell thee our opinion Concerning woman's soft dominion Howe'er we gaze with admiration On eyes of blue or lips carnation, Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, Howe'er those beauties may distract us, Still fickle, we are prone to rove, These cannot fix our souls to love: It is not too severe a stricture To say they form a pretty picture; But wouldst thou see the secret chain, Which binds us in your humble train, To hail you queens of all creation, Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.

TO MARY.

OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,

With bright but mild affection shine, Though they might kindle less desire, Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art formed so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When Nature stamped thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,

She feared that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own:

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,

She bade a secret lightning lurk
Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all,

But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

"Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.