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Mirth! oh stay thee, and awhile
Let me balk beneath thy smile
Dearest goddess ! for my soul
Willing owns thy lov'd controul;
Ever let me bend to thee,
Ever be thy votary-

Earth and air, the fea, the skies,
Each to man a bliss supplies.
Countless beings in light measure
Round him dance and whisper pleasure,
Still to joy desires inviting,
Answering senses ftill delighting.
Where their gloom could tages borrow,
Man who call the child of sorrow?
For sure tho'mirth but airy phantoms bring,
Tho' pleasures in our way no roses fling ;
Tho' scorn'd by all the powers that I adore-
Still mighty love ! hast thou no joys in store?
Thy foft delusions, and delicious fears,
Fond hopes, and keen delights, and burning tears ;
Oh! tell them all, or bid these grey-beards wile
Cast but one glance on my Eliza's eyes.


Mine too be each softened pleasure,

Thou, Thalia, canst impart;
Laughter, happy beyond measure,

Gaiety, that mends the heart !
These are thine, and satire keen,

Wit, that jeers eccentric folly,
And tenderness, that clothes the scene,

In tranfient, pleasing melancholy-
Or fee where fancy now in trance profound,

On some loved scene her pencil silent plies; Nor hears the busy world that murmurs round,

Or smiles to hear, and liftons to defpife ; And starting now, with look impatient calls,

And bids her beaming car the lightnings bear, Far, far beyond the realms where sunbeam falls,

Or comets on the darkness pour their glare; And there her mysteries to her favourites thews,

Sketching bright visions on the deepened gloom; Or weaves dark dreams, while as the texture grows,

Surprise broods raptured o'er the awful loom.

And me too, if on me she deign to smile,

Let mufing science thew her inmost bowers, And all her lore unfold – unheard the while

On gliding wing thall move the filent hours,


Ah! bleft the man, for whom with patient care,

She culls unfading flowers of calm delight, And leads him wondering o'er the earth and air,

The boundless ocean, and the realms of lightHigh raised from vulgar eyes to happier spheres,

He breathes an air more balmy and serene : The while, at distance, echoed faint he hears

The murmuring waves of life's tumultuous scene.

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My foul or yielding, I diffuse

The still and fleeping landscape o'er; Then memory oft with thee I muse,

On days that must return no more.

When winter chills the darkened air,

And embers faint the earth illume, Lonely I watch their mimic glare,

People with forms the twilight gloom; As fancy points, my course I chuse;

Calm realins of thought I wander o'er; Then Memory! oft with thee I mase,

On days that must return no more.

When faft the lowering evenings close,

And parting autumn's stormy train, Wake fullen winter repose,

And bend the woods, and sweep the main ; Tbee, Memory, then I turn to woo,

I figh expiring nature o'er, And pensively with thee I view

Lov'd hours, that muft return no more

Sweet is the call of whispering (pring

I hear, and range the lawns and groves, And mark how life unfolds bis wing,

And o’er earth, air, and ocean roves. * And thus," I cry, " did hope diffuse

“ Once her soft light my bolom o'er,'' Then Memory, fad, with thee I mufe,

On joys that inult return no more. Trie- to me has bounteous heaven,

Now a kinder fate beftowed, And with lavith hand has given

Bliss to me it never owed.

Still tho' bright the day be shining,

Clouds that in the morn were seen, Not, as yet, the sky resigning,

Oft floating pass the blue ferene.

He too, who, in boundless measure,

Blessings may from fortune gain,
Oft must pause and turn from pleasure,

Feeling for another's pain :

The heart to cheer, Affection warm exten

Her beauteous web around with fingers fine,


But ah! when Fate or Chance the texture rends,

She finds with fighs, “ the liv'd along the line."

The fondest look that e'er pourtrayed the mind,

The richeft bliss that sympathy e'er gave, Foll dearly purchas'd, will the mourner find,

Who tends the bed of pain, or decks the grave, From ills like these, from sorrows of her own,

E’en virtues self no kind repofe can know; Too oft with contest faint and cheerless grown,

She hopes not reft or happiness below;

Fixed on those realms, where no wild paffion fires,

Where no keen sorrow in the heart delays, No fiekening want to solitude retire

Nor pain on the shrunk frame resistless preys —

But whither have my thoughts unbidden stray'd,

Where fled the dreams that did my senses fold, Ah mirth, while scarce my vows to thee were paid,

Is the gleam o'er, and is my heart grown cold?

Enchantress fair! to gain one happy hour

Like me, if e'er another suppliant bend, Unceasing let thy wand its influence pour,

For if thy votary think thy visions end.

One for his MAJESTY's Birtu-DAY,

By Henry James' Pye, Esa. Poet-LAUREAT,


A "Shall

yield to gentler powers the plain,

Lo! Britain greets the milder charms

Of Cytherea's reign.
Mute is the trumpet's brazen throat,
And the sweet flute's melodious note

Floats on the soft ambrosial gale;
The sportive Loves and Graces round,
Beating with jucund itep the ground,

Th' auspicious nupuals hail!
The Muses ceaie to weave the wreath of war,
But hang their roseate flowers on Hymen's goldenr car!


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