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SONG V.

As near a weeping spring reclined,
The beauteous Araminta pined,
And mourned a false ungrateful youth;.
While dying echoes caught the sound,
And spread the soft complaints around
Of broken vows and altered truth ;

An aged shepherd heard her moan,
And thus in pity's kindest tone
Addressed the lost despairing maid :
Cease, cease, unhappy fair, to grieve,
For sounds, though sweet, can ne'er relieve
A breaking heart by love betrayed.

Why shouldst thou waste such precious showers,

That fall like dew on withered flowers,

But dying passion ne'er restored ?

In Beauty's empire is no mean,-
And woman, either slave or queen,

Is quickly scorned when not adored.

“ Those liquid pearls from either eye,

Which might an Eastern empire buy,

Unvalued here and fruitless fall :

No art the season can renew,

When love was young, and Damon true; No tears a wandering heart recall.

"Cease, cease to grieve; thy tears are vain,

Should those fair orbs in drops of rain
Vie with a weeping southern sky:
For hearts o'ercome with love and grief
All nature yields but one relief ;-
Die ! hapless Araminta, die !"

S0 N G VI.

When first upon your tender cheek I saw the morn of beauty break

With mild and cheering beam, I bowed before your infant shrine; The earliest sighs you had were mine,

And you my darling theme.

I saw you in that opening morn
For Beauty's boundless empire born,

And first confessed your sway;

And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,

Could learn the value of a heart,

1
gave my

heart

away.

I watched the dawn of every grace,

And gazed upon that angel face,

While yet 'twas safe to gaze ;

And fondly blessed each rising charm, Nor thought such innocence could harm

The peace of future days.

But now despotic o’er the plains
The awful noon of beauty reigns,

And kneeling crowds adore ;
Its beams arise too fiercely bright,
Danger and death attend the sight,

And I must hope no more.

Thus to the rising God of day
Their early vows the Persians pay,

And bless the spreading fire; Whose glowing chariot mounting soon Pours on their heads the burning noon ;

They sicken, and expire.

D E LI A.

AN ELEGY.

...... tecum ut longæ sociarem gaudia vitæ,
Inque tuo caderet nostra senecta sinu.

TIBUL.

Yes, Delia loves! My fondest vows are blest:
Farewell the memory of her past disdain ;
One kind relenting glance has healed my breast,
And balanced in a moment years of pain.

O’er her soft cheek consenting blushes move,
And with kind stealth her secret soul betray ;

Blushes, which usher in the morn of love,

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