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As near a weeping spring reclined,
An aged shepherd heard her moan,
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,-
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
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
And first confessed your sway;
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,
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
And kneeling crowds adore ;
And I must hope no more.
Thus to the rising God of day
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.
...... tecum ut longæ sociarem gaudia vitæ,
Yes, Delia loves! My fondest vows are blest:
O’er her soft cheek consenting blushes move,
Blushes, which usher in the morn of love,