O! welcome Death that sets the pris'ner free!
O! welcome Death to those who weep like me!
Soon shall the calm of thy forgetful rest,
Give peace and ease to this tormented breast;
Blot out at once my sorrow and my shame,
And only leave my too unhappy name;
While my free spirit in the realms above,
Shall cease to grieve-but never cease to love.
Farewell!-The shadows gather o'er the sea;
Night comes again, but brings no sleep to me.
The sea-fowl passes screaming to her nest;
But where shall Ariadne look for rest?
The Sun may rise upon this lonely shore;
But not to me. Adieu for evermore!
GIVE me, give me here my tea;
Ladies' nectar! give it me;
Sweet as what the Hummer sips,
Or the dew on Beauty's lips.
Tea 'tis makes the spirits flow,
Tickles up the heart of Woe,
Sets the tongue, enlivens wit,
Gives the sweet poetic fit.
Tea 'tis makes the charming Fair
Sprightly, pleasing, as they are.
What is more than all, 'twas Tea;
Tea, that set Columbia free.
PLEASURE play'd with Love one day,
She had stol'n his arms away;
Tickling him about the heart,
With the feather of his dart,
rosy breast left bare,
'Twas a child, what need she care? Love soon saw his mark, and laugh'd, Then adroitly touch'd the shaft: "Oh! I die! I die! my heart! "Take, take out this tingling dart!" No, good for you; now you see "What you get by playing with me.”
"Ha! Sir! did you catch me tho'? Only want me for a show;
"If my head-piece is so small,
"Think not I've no wit at all.
"What! give up my liberty!
"I'm my own bird now: I'm free;
"Now I ramble all the day;
"All my business is to play.
"Now I chase the Butterfly,
"Tho' he thinks himself so sprigh.
"Now I hunt for honey dew,
"I know where to find it too;
"I'm the bird to draw it up,
"From the Jasmine's yellow cup,
"Or the Honeysuckle's bell,
"Charming flower, I can tell :
"But of every thing that blows,
"Give me still the blushing rose !
"There's the honey! Oh! 'tis sweet! "Fit for any bird to eat
"Ha! you there, my little Bee!
"You mustn't get that rose from me!"
THERE is a charming little flow'r,
A charming flow'r it is ;
The brightest gem in Flora's bow'r,
And sweet as Beauty's kiss.
There is no fragrance in its sigh,
To tempt the busy Bee;
It doesn't please the Butterfly,
But it is dear to me.
I love to see the little thing,
When Morning paints the skies,
Before the Lark is on the wing,
Open its sparkling eyes.
Then bright and fresh with shining dew,
It glitters to the ray,
With triple spots of various hue,
So fancifully gay.
This is the flow'r that I will wear,
That girls may cease to tease;
Its name is music to my ear,
What is it call'd?-Heart's-Ease.
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
SHE has died on the mountain,
The pride of the plain!
And the sighs of Affection
Recal her in vain.
O! the wild-rose of Beauty
Is blooming no more!
And Love's tears may bedew it,
But cannot restore.
The mild star of Evening
Shines bright in the West,
And sparkles with pleasure,
But soon sinks to rest.
Yet still unextinguished,
Just sets for a while;
Then, the star of the Morning
Lights Heav'n with a smile.
LOVE saw Beauty: "Come," said he
Charming cousin, come with me; "I will show you such a treat,
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