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ADVICE TO A FRIEND.
Gaze not, my friend, on Celia's eye,
Where thousand loves in ambush wait; Now, while thou canst, the danger fly,
Nor dare, like me, to tempt thy fate.
Those charms ( view'd in luckless hour,
Awe struck, as Persians at the sun; My bosom own'd their instant power,
I did but look, and was undone.
So through the air with winged force
And deadly aim the bullet flies; Although unseen its trackless course,
The warrior feels it, and he dies.
ODE TO A YOUNG LADY.
Why thus decline my troubled egess.
If hither their mild lustre bending Those azure orbs to meet me rise? Why thus with thee conversing, dies
My voice, in broken murmurs ending?
Yet, dawning from my looks distresty
Yet, wooing in the coy expression Of faultering sounds, that half-supprest In sighs ill stifled breathe the rest,
Read ah too dear! the fond confessions
In vain! what these soft tumults show,
From theę, yet new to love, is kidden; Untaught thy wishes yet to know, If sighs ascend, if blushes glow,
What means the sigh, the blush unbidden.
But hope not ever thus secure
To dart thy wildly-wandering glances:
On hasty wing thy youth advances.
0, skilled in every graceful art
That adds a polish'a charm to beauty ; Be mine those pleasing cates t impart. Which best refine the gentle heart,
Be mine to teach the tender duty!
ODE TO INES DE GUETE.
Dearest, wouldst tliou but believe
Alas! nor longer free:
That bound it first to thee !
'Tis not, that cradled in thine eyes The baby Love, for ever lies
On couches dipt in dew, 'Tis not, because those eyes have won Their temper'd light from April's sun,
From heav'n--their tints of blue !
'Tis not, that o'er a bank of snow Thy parted tresses lightly flow
In bands of braided gold;
In Beauty's happier mould.
No-dearest, no—but, from my soul,
The cherish'd sweets of rest,
In dimples gaily drest.
E'en now, by Fancy's eyes are seen
Two lips that breathe of May,
For timid love to say.
Yet, dearest, would'st thou but believe
Alas! nor longer free; "Twould tell thee thou could'st ne'er impart A smile of thine to cheer a heart
More truly bound to thee!
'Twould beg, with a beseeching sigh, One glance from Pity's meaning eye
Its every pang to pay. 'Twould hint, perchance, at happier hours, When Hope may strew her fairy flowers
O'er life's bewilder'd way.
Yet, should my days in sorrow flow,
A single boon to me,
Till banish'd far from thee!
FANNY BLOOMING FAIR.
With Fanny blooming fair,
Who still unrival'd reigns,
Thro' all Siluria’s plains !
Of sweetest flow'rs,
From Pindus' bow'rs,