A Sonnet

I'll range around the shady bowers,
And gather all the sweetest flowers;
I'll strip the garden and the grave
To make a garland for my love.

When in the sultry heat of day
My thirsty nymph does panting lay,
I'll hasten to the river's brink,
And drain the floods, but she shall drink.

At night, to rest her weary head,
I'll make my love a grassy bed;
And with green boughs I'll form a shade,
That nothing may her rest invade.

And while dissolved in sleep she lies
Myself shall never close these eyes,

A Sonnet

Tho' cruel you seem to my pain,
And hate me because I am true,
Yet, Phyllis, you love a false swain,
Who has other nymphs in his view:
Enjoyment's a trifle to him,
To me what a heav'n would it be.
To him but a woman you seem,
But, Ah! you're an angel to me.

Those lips which he touches in haste,
To them I for ever could grow;
Still clinging around that dear waist
Which he spans as beside him you go.
That hand, like a lilly so white,
Which over his shoulder you lay,
My bosom could warm it all night,

Divinest fair,
O, ease my care,
And kindly cheer your dying swain;
No longer fly,
No more deny,
But give me love for love again.

Love's powerful dart
Has pierc'd my heart,
Shot from your irresistless charms;
Nor can I rest
Until I'm blest,
Encircl'd in your snowy arms.

A Song

Lovely ruler of my heart,
Queen of all and ev'ry part!
Object of my soul's desire,
For whose sake I could expire.

Witness! all the gods above
That I only live to love;
That I love but you alone,
Let me then my passion own.

Queen of my Heart, and idol of my soul,
I bless the pow'r that does each sense controul;
So mild, so gentle is your reign,
I gladly wear the pleasing chain;
Such pride I take your slave to be,
I would not, if I could, be free.

A Song

The flame of love assuages
When once it is reveal'd;
But faster still it rages
The more it is conceal'd.

Consenting makes it colder;
When met it will retreat;
Repulses make it bolder,
And dangers make it sweet.

A Song

To be gazing on those charms,
To be folded in those arms,
To unite my lips with those
Whence eternal sweetness flows;
To be lov'd by one so fair
Is to be blest beyond compare.

On that bosom to recline,
While that hand is lock'd in mine;
In those eyes myself to view,
Gazing still and still on you.
To be lov'd by one so fair
Is to be blest beyond compare.

To the Same

Thou fairest, most divine of womankind,
Angel in form, and goddess in thy mind,
I've seen you, charmer; that alone will prove
As I have seen, so I, of course, must love.
I own I merit no-one so divine,
But yet, if love is merit, you are mine.
Then to my fate the last decision give;
Or frown me into dust, or smile, and bid me live.

Pretty robin at my window,
Welcoming the day
With thy loud and liquid piping,
Read my riddle, pray.
I have conned it waking, sleeping,
Vexed the more for aye.
Thou'rt a wizard, pretty robin —
Does he love me — say?

Lady violet, blooming meekly
By the brooklet free,
Bending low thy gentle forehead
All its grace to see,
Turn thee from the wooing water,
Whisper soft, I pray,
For the winds might hear my secret —
Does he love me — say?

Star that through the silent night-tide
Watchest over him,

Those Testy Souls whom every Word offends,
Like Porcupines and Nettles, have no Friends.

I F Everyone is slighting You Alone,
The Fault is always, possibly, your own.

H E pelts each Dog that barks at him, and so
Has Time for Naught but finding Stones to throw.

Dislikes may whet your Wit, but leave you lonely;
True Happiness is found in Loving, only.
W HEN in comes Doubt,
Love goes out.

When a' the Warld had clos'd their Een,
Fatigu'd with Labour, Care and Din,
And quietly ilka weary Wight
Enjoy'd the Silence of the Night:
Then Cupid , that ill-deedy Get,
With a' his Pith rapt at my Yet.
Surpriz'd, throw Sleep, I cry'd, Wha's that?
Quoth he, A poor young Wean a' wet;
Oh! haste ye apen, — fear nae Skaith,
Else soon this Storm will be my Death.

With his Complaint my Saul grew wae,
For as he said I thought it sae;
I took a Light, and fast did rin
To let the chittering Infant in: