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LOVE's no irregular desire,
No sudden start of raging pain, Which in a moment grows on fire, And in a moment cools again: Not found in the sad sonnetteer,
That sings of darts, despair, and chains, And by whose dismal verse 'tis clear
He wants not heart alone, but brains.
Nor does it centre in the beau,
Who sighs by rule, in order dies; Whose ALL consists in outward shew, And want of wit by dress supplies. No; Love is something so divine,
Description would but make it less : 'Tis what we feel, but can't define; 'Tis what we know, but can't express. Weekly Amusement.
THE parent bird, whose little nest
But soon as nature plumes their wings,
But hapless we, of human race,
On what procures us pain;
But ever will remain.
WHEN first this humble roof I knew,
My grain was scarce, my sheep were few,
By mutual toil our board was dress'd,
Content and peace the dwelling shar'd,
In them was giv'n, tho' gold was spar'd,
No value has a splendid lot,
But as the means to prove That, from the castle to the cot,
The all of life is love.
Myrtle und Vine.
HAVE a silent sorrow here,
It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
This cherish'd woe, this lov'd despair,
So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear
And when pale characters of death
I shall not raise my eyes to heav'n,
THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH.
ONE April morn, reclin’d in bed,
Just at the hour when dreams are true, A fairy form approach'd my head, Smiling beneath her mantle blue.
"Fie, fie!" she cry'd, "why sleep so long, When she, the nymph you dearly love, Now roves the vernal flowers among,
And waits for you in yonder grove?
"Hark! you may hear her cherub voice:
I rose, and hasten'd to the grove,
My fairy took me by the hand,