I could follow thee over the dark blue main,
In tempest or summer shine;

The voice of storm would threaten in vain

The heart that reposed on thine.

Though past the lights that the many prize,
And grief and shame were with thee,
There yet would be hope enough in thine eyes,
So that they but turned on me.

I should be glad, but for thy dear sake,
That thy planet were darkened above,

For the cloud that shadow'd thy fate would but make More apparent my truth and my love.

ADVICE TO A PAINTER.

Bold limner, if thou dar'st to trace
The beauties of Clarissa's face,
With artful pencil try to mix
The softer charms of either sex :
One sex alone thou'lt find too poor
To furnish out the boundless store;
Take from all nature every grace,
And blend them in her blooming face :-
But would'st thou shew thy utmost art,
Copy Clarissa from my heart;

For she herself is not more fair

Than love her form has pictured there.

TO CHLOE.

Those eyes, my dear Chloe, or rather, I mean,

Those two little suns in thy head,

Those lips, and those teeth, or, to make myself plain,

Those corals of white and of red,

Provoke, as you face it, the winterly blast

To run riot in hopes of the bliss,

Nor your hand, nor your veil, can prevent him at last,

From rudely obtaining a kiss ;

Then, how can you think we can let you alone?
We mortals of mere flesh and blood,

With hearts in our bosoms not harder than stone,—
It would be very strange if we could.

THE PRIMROSE.

BY P. CAREW.

Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you

This primrose all bepearl'd with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,—
The sweets of love are wash'd with tears:
Ask me why this flow'r doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why this stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it does not break;
I must tell you ;-these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.

TO A FEMALE CUP-BEARER.

Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,
Reach round the rosy wine;
Think not that we will take the cup
From any hand but thine.

A draught like this, 'twere vain to seek ;
No grape can such supply:

It steals its tints from Leila's cheek,
Its brightness from her eye.

LINES,

On seeing Miss Vassal, afterwards Lady Holland, at a Masquerade, February 27th, 1786.

Imperial nymph! ill suited is thy name
To speak the wonders of that radiant frame;
Where'er thy sovereign form on earth is seen,
All eyes are Vassals ;-thou, alone, a Queen.

TO LAURA.

Love speaks, my Laura, in thine eyes,

With soft seduction, to ensnare ;

Upon thy lips he laughing lies,

And sports among thy flowing hair.

The victor god in every part

Appears, and shines with matchless grace! 'Tis only in thy cruel heart

He finds, alas! no dwelling place!

TO LADY HYDE,

(Afterwards Countess of Clarendon and Rochester.)

BY LORD LANSDOWNE.

When fam'd Apelles sought to frame
Some image of th' Italian dame,

To furnish graces for the piece,

He summon'd all the nymphs of Greece;
So many mortals were combin'd,

To show how one immortal shin'd.

Had Hyde thus sat by proxy too,
As Venus then was said to do,
Venus herself, and all the train
Of Goddesses, had summon'd been ;

The painter must have search'd the skies,
To match the lustre of her eyes.

Comparing then, while thus we view,

The ancient Venus and the new,
In her we many mortals see,

As many Goddesses in thee.

ON LADY MANCHESTER'S VISIT TO PARIS.

While haughty Gallia's dames, that spread
O'er their pale cheeks an artful red,
Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
In native charms, divinely fair,
Confusion in their looks they show'd,
And with emborrow'd blushes glow'd.

OH! RAISE THOSE DOWNCAST EYES.

BY RICHARD RYAN.

Oh! raise those downcast eyes, and let them be
Sweet promisers of hope, and passion mine,
In their soft languishment-ah! let me see

Each long-hid wish, each burning thought of thine. Language the fondest, cannot half so well

Breathe vows devoted, or love that never dies, As that half-shaded beam the tale can tell,

When, to meet mine, its splendours trembling rise.

Oh! more than Sage or Bard has penn'd in books,
Or tongue express'd with love's insidious art,

Is one of lovely woman's soul-fraught looks,
That silent speaks her fond enamour'd heart.
The change of vow, the tender flow'rets given,
The meeting smile, and e'en the farewell kiss
I mourn not for, if from my memory riv❜n,
While I can treasure one such look as this.