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PARENT of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys;
At length, in spells no longer bound,
I break the fetters of
my youth;
No more I tread thy mystic round,
But leave thy realms for those of Truth.

And yet 't is hard to quit the dreams

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Where every nymph a goddess seems, Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; While Fancy holds her boundless reign, And all assume a varied hue; When virgins seem no longer vain,

And even woman's smiles are true.

And must we own thee but a name,

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To trust a passing wanton's sigh,
And melt beneath a wanton's tear!
Romance! disgusted with deceit,

Far from thy motley court I fly,
Where Affectation holds her seat,
And sickly Sensibility;
Whose silly tears can never flow

For any pangs excepting thine;
Who turns aside from real woe,

To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. Now join with sable Sympathy,

With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female choir, To mourn a swain for ever gone, Who once could glow with equal fire, But bends not now before thy throne. Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears On all occasions swiftly flow, Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, With fancied flames and phrensy glow; Say, will you mourn my absent name, Apostate from your gentle train ? An infant bard at least may claim From you a sympathetic strain.

Adieu, fond race! a long adieu !

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The hour of fate is hovering nigh; E'en now the gulf appears in view, Where unlamented you must lie: Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether.

ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES

SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN

'But if any old lady, knight, priest, or physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse? ANSTEY, New Bath Guide. CANDOUR compels me, BECHER! to commend

The verse which blends the censor with the friend.

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