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THE ANGLER'S WISH.
WOULD I might live near Avon's flow'ry brink,
Would I these harmless pastimes might pursue,
Would I might let my fancy feed its fill,
Would I might view the compass of the sky,
Would I might walk in woods and forests long,
THE VIRGIN'S FIRST LOVE.
YES, Sweet's the delight, when our blushes impart The youthful affection that glows in the heart; When prudence, and duty, and reason approve The timid delight of the virgin's first love.
But if the fond virgin be destin'd to feel
If stolen the glance by which love is confess'd,
Or, if her fond bosom with tenderness sighs
If, tempted by int'rest, he venture to shun
With another through passion's soft mazes to rove;
See her eye, when the tale of his falsehood she hears, Now beaming with scorn, and now glist'ning with tears, How great is the anguish she's destin❜d to prove! Farewell the delight of the virgin's first love.
No more soft emotion shall glow on her cheek,
And see, sad companion of mental distress,
Disease steals upon her in health's flatt'ring dress! Sure! the blush on that cheek ev'ry fear must remove: Ah! no, 'tis th' effect of the virgin's first love.
Still brighter the colour that glows in her cheek;
And now quite unconscious that fate hovers near, On her face see the smile of contentment appear: No struggle, no groan, his dread summons to prove; Death ends the fond dream of the virgin's first love.
Ye nymphs! ere your bosoms with tenderness heave, Let your choice from a parent glad sanction receive, Lest wrong-plac'd affection's keen sorrows you prove, And Hymen ne'er smile on the virgin's first love.
But chiefly be sure, that the fond favour'd youth Is wholly your own, and devoted to truth;
Lest the anguish of slighted affection you prove, And death end the dream of the virgin's first love. The Cabinet.
WHEN ev'ry charm of life is fled,
When sleep, the wretch's late relief,
Denies one little pause to grief,
Ah! what can pity's self devise,
From farther ills the wretch to save,
Hung on the bough of a venerable Walnut Tree which overshadows the burying ground of Mr. Waller.
STRANGER, if virtue, or if verse be dear,
To guard this vault from each unhallow'd hand :
Taste, but with rev'rence, kneeling at the shrine,
And unforbidden wisdom shine in thee.
Beaconsfield Church Yard.