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VERSES ON MRS. ROWE.
Such were the notes our chaster Sappho sung,
And her whole soul was harmony and love.
Virtue that breast without a conflict gained,
And easy, like a native monarch, reigned.
The world applauded, and Alexis loved.
With love, with health, with fame and friendship blest,
And of a cheerful heart the constant feast,
What more of bliss sincere could earth bestow?
What purer heaven could angels taste below?
But bliss from earth’s vain scenes too quickly flies ;
The golden cord is broke ;—Alexis dies!
Now in the leafy shade and widowed grove
Sad Philomela mourns her absent love;
Now deep retired in Frome's enchanting vale,
her tuneful sorrows on the gale; Without one fond reserve the world disclaims,
And gives up all her soul to heavenly flames.
Blest in thy friendships ! in thy death, too, blest ! Received without a pang to endless rest.
Heaven called the saint matured by length of days,
And her pure spirit was exhaled in praise.
TO A DOG.
DEAR faithful object of my tender care,
Thy modest virtues, and domestic worth :
Thou silent, humble flatterer, yet sincere,
More swayed by love than interest or fear;
As lovers fond, and more than lovers true.
Who can resist those dumb beseeching eyes,
Where genuine eloquence persuasive lies ?
Whose kind attachment but with life shall end,
Blest were mankind if many a prouder name
Could boast thy grateful truth and spotless fame!
When blooming beauty in the noon of
power, While offered joys demand each sprightly hour, With all that pomp of charms and winning mien Which sure to conquer needs but to be seen; When she, whose name the softest love inspires, To the hushed chamber of Disease retires,
To watch and weep beside a parent's bed,
What mixt delight each feeling heart must warm !