THE CATALOGUE "COME, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kist, One day she reclin'd on my breast; "Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list "Of the nymphs you have lov'd and carest.”Oh Rosa! 'twas only my fancy that roved, My heart at the moment was free; But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved, And the number shall finish with thee. My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild She taught me the way to be blest; She taught me to love her, I lov'd like a child, This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore I have had it by rote very often before, Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame, But my head was so full of romance My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me, And the worst of it was, we could never agree What hours, Catullus, once were thine, Ye met-your souls seem'd all in one, Like tapers that commingling shone; Thy heart was warm enough for both, And hers, in truth, was nothing loath. Such were the hours that once were thine; But, ah! those hours no longer shine. For now the nymph delights no more In what she lov'd so much before; And all Catullus now can do, Is to be proud and frigid too; Nor follow where the wanton flies, Nor sue the bliss that she denies. False maid! he bids farewell to thee, To love, and all love's misery; The heyday of his heart is o'er, Nor will he court one favour more. Fly, perjur'd girl!-but whither fly? Who now will praise thy cheek and eye? Who now will drink the syren tone, Which tells him thou art all his own? Oh, none :- and he who lov'd before Can never, never love thee more. "Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more!" St. Joux, chap. viii. OH woman, if through sinful wile Thy soul hath stray'd from honour's track, 'Tis mercy only can beguile, By gentle ways, the wand'rer back. The stain that on thy virtue lies, Go, go, be innocent,- and live; The tongues of men may wound thee sore; But Heav'n in pity can forgive, And bid thee "go, and sin no more!" IMITATION OF CATULLUS. TO HIMSELF. Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, &c. CEASE the sighing fool to play; Nor vainly think those joys thine own, NONSENSE. GOOD reader! if you e'er have seen, When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, SONG. ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799. Or all my happiest hours of joy, So full of friendship's purest blisses; Then come, my friends, this hour improve, Be thus with joy remember'd ever! But now I mourn that e'er I knew A girl so fair and so deceiving. Fare thee well. Few have ever lov'd like me, Yes, I have lov'd thee too sincerely! And few have e'er deceiv'd like thee,Alas! deceiv'd me too severely. Fare thee well!-yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee, Who now would rather trust that smile, And die with thee than live without thee. Fare thee well! I'll think of thee, Thou leav'st me many a bitter token; For see, distracting woman, see, My peace is gone, my heart is broken!— Fare thee well! MORALITY. A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. ADDRESSED TO J. AT-NS-N, ESQ. M. R. I. A. THOUGH long at school and college dosing, Though long with those divines at school, I find the doctors and the sages The doctors of the Porch advise, 66 Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh, "Though Heav'n the breeze, the breath, supplied, "Must curl the wave or swell the tide!" But thus it is, all sects we see While mystics dream, and doctors ponder; While thus they strive, in Heaven's defiance, Oh! when I've seen the morning beam 1 Aristippus. No, pedants, I have left to you THE TELL-TALE LYRE. I've heard, there was in ancient days A Lyre of most melodious spell; 'Twas heav'n to hear its fairy lays, If half be true that legends tell. 'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, And to their breath it breath'd again In such entrancing melodies As ear had never drunk till then! Not harmony's serenest touch So stilly could the notes prolong; If sad the heart, whose murm'ring air Or if the sigh, serene and light, Soon whisper'd it to kind repose. And when young lovers talk'd alone, And sent forth notes that Heaven might hear There was a nymph, who long had lov'd, But dar'd not tell the world how well: 'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole, It chanc'd that, in the fairy bower And as, with eyes commingling fire, And, while the melting words she breath'd Were by its echoes wafted round, Her locks had with the chords so wreath'd, One knew not which gave forth the sound. Alas, their hearts but little thought, While thus they talk'd the hours away, That every sound the Lyre was taught Would linger long, and long betray. So mingled with its tuneful soul Were all their tender murmurs grown, That other sighs unanswer'd stole, Nor words it breath'd but theirs alone. Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand Hung high amid the whisp'ring groves, To every gale by which 'twas fann'd, Proclaim'd the myst'ry of your loves. Nor long thus rudely was thy name There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, PEACE AND GLORY. WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR. WHERE is now the smile, that lighten'd Must the bay be pluck'd again? Passing hour of sunny weather Peace and Glory, wed together, Wander'd through our blessed isle. And the eyes of Peace would glisten, Dewy as a morning sun, When the timid maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done. Is their hour of dalliance over? Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover To the desert's still retreat? Fare you well! with sighs we banish Nymph so fair and guests so bright; Yet the smile, with which you vanish, Leaves behind a soothing light; Soothing light, that long shall sparkle While around him myriads perish, SONG. TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art In passion's moment breath'd to me; Yet, no-it must not, will not part, 'Tis now the life-breath of my heart, And has become too pure for thee. Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh With all the warmth of truth imprest; Yet, no- the fatal kiss may lie, Upon thy lip its sweets would die, Or bloom to make a rival blest. Take back the vows that, night and day, My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thine; Yet, no-allow them still to stay, They might some other heart betray, As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. LOVE AND REASON. "Quand l'homme commence à raisonner, il cesse de sentir." J. J. ROUSSEAU.1 "TWAS in the summer time so sweet, 1 Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Études de la Nature. |