FLORENCE DELMAR, UNDER A FICTITIOUS NARRATIVE, TAXES HER SUITOR WITH HIS ESTRANGED AFFECTION .

Tem. What moves you thus?
Flo. That which I read. And yet,
'Tis a stale sorrow; but a woman's wrong.
Tem. You give these moods of sentiment, these dreams
Of fancy too much sway. I pray you, Florence,
Follow example and conform your course
To custom, and the fashion of the times.
What air-spun grief o'erwrought you?
Flo. I have said,

To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life unchilled, unmoved,
To love in wintry age the same

ODE LXXV.

Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,
Stream on the breeze like floating gold;
Come, within a fragrant cloud
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;
And, on those wings that sparkling play,
Waft, oh, waft me hence away!
Love! my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury.
But she, the nymph for whom I glow,
The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe;
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues,
That time upon my forehead strews.
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms,
In store for younger, happier arms!

ODE LXXIV.

Monarch Love, resistless boy,
With whom the rosy Queen of Joy,
And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven's hue,
Disporting tread the mountain-dew;
Propitious, oh! receive my sighs,
Which, glowing with entreaty, rise
That thou wilt whisper to the breast
Of her I love thy soft behest:
And counsel her to learn from thee,
That lesson thou hast taught to me.
Ah! if my heart no flattery tell,
Thou 'lt own I 've learned that lesson well!

ODE XXXIX.

How I love the festive boy,
Tripping through the dance of joy!
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age!
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appears,
Snows may o'er his head be flung,
But his heart — his heart is young.

ODE XXVII.

W E read the flying courser's name
Upon his side, in marks of flame;
And, by their turbaned brows alone,
The warriors of the East are known.
But in the lover's glowing eyes,
The inlet to his bosom lies;
Through them we see the small faint mark,
Where Love has dropt his burning spark!

July 9

What is itt, that thou dost require
whilst thou art smartly, knocking off
Our fingers, from what we admire
by it, thou calst for all, our love
What cause have we, if itt be soe
To wonder, thou shouldst stoop so low.

What is our love (deer Lord,) to thee
Thou'rt in thy self, to great, to high
To, gain by it, tis only wee
That ar advantaged, therby
Yet art thou pleas'd thus low to bend
As for soe meane, a thing to send.

All we can have, for to bestow
It will fall short, infinetly

Gods fullnese common bounty, and specyall love, the souls chouse, July 5 73

When we our minds, and thoughts, doe set
Upon thy fullnese infinet.

We ar soon driven to a stand
At that, we cannot comprehand.

Though, from thee all our mercys flow
Thou'st ne're the lese, for to bestow.

When we thy providence doe eye
And see thy liberallity.

We run our selfs, into a maize
att all thy providencyall waies.

Thou spreadst a table, out for all
Both young, & old, both great, and small.

severity in love, better than prosperity in anger July 3 73

How often dost thou strik our fingers off
From thosse delights, on which we set much love
Somtimes thou takst them quite away from us
And dost att once our I'dols, kill, and crush
Somtimes, thou dost to us imbitter it
And that way makst us, losser from it sitt
By that time we ar wean'd from them a while
Soon after, somthing else, doth us, beguile
And slyly steall away, from thee our hart
And of our love, itt takes away thy part
So that thy love, is forced to begin

Infinet love, & grace. July 2 73

If thou from hell, hadst only set
Us free. twere mercy. infinete
to those, who did rebell
But love, and grace, breaks through each let
and o're the banks did swell.

Thy love that rose exceeding high
In sending down, thy son to dye
our depts, for to discharg
And set, our soulls, att liberty
to walk in postures larg

If thou hadst only to the race
of sinfull Adam, shew'd this grace
To Let them still live here
Though they should n'e're have seen thy face