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And when that heart shall cease to beat, And when that breath at length is free, Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet,

And mingle to eternity!

SONG.

THE wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Is fair- but oh, how fair,

If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love

One leaf to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,

Did gems for dewdrops fall,

One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd
Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove
Our emblem well may be;

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love
Must keep its tears for me.

THE SALE OF LOVES.

I DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves, My nets by moonlight laying,

I caught a flight of wanton Loves,
Among the rose-beds playing.
Some just had left their silv'ry shell,
While some were full in feather;
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell,

Were never yet strung together.
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses!

They're new and bright,
The cost is light,

For the coin of this isle is kisses.

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The learned Prue took a pert young thing,
To divert her virgin Muse with,
And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing,
To indite her billet-doux with.
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair

Her only eye, if you'd ask it;
And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair,
For the youngest Love in the basket.
Come buy my Loves, &c. &c.

But one was left, when Susan came,
One worth them all together;
At sight of her dear looks of shame,
He smil'd, and prun'd his feather.
She wish'd the boy-'twas more than whim-
Her looks, her sighs betray'd it ;
But kisses were not enough for him,
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it!
Good-by, my Loves,
Good-by, my Loves,

'Twould make you smile to've seen us
First trade for this

Sweet child of bliss,

And then nurse the boy between us.

ΤΟ

THE world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;

I felt not, as I us'd to feel,

And life grew dark and love was gone.

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No circling arms to draw me near 'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death.

But when I saw that gentle eye,

Oh! something seem'd to tell me then, That I was yet too young to die, And hope and bliss might bloom again.

With every gentle smile that crost

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which far had learn'd to roam.

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,

Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, That, though I mourn, I yet forgive

The ruin they have left behind.

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ON THE

DEATH OF A LADY.

SWEET spirit! if thy airy sleep

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, Then will I weep, in anguish weep,

Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes. But if thy sainted soul can feel,

And mingles in our misery;
Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal-

Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. The beam of morn was on the stream, But sullen clouds the day deform: Like thee was that young, orient beam, Like death, alas, that sullen storm!

Thou wert not form'd for living here,

So link'd thy soul was with the sky;

Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear,

We thought thou wert not form'd to die.

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