To covet an appropriate bliss,
The Decalogue has made a sin;
But envy at a common kiss
Makes a poor guilt, not worth a pin.
Mine 's an offence that Kings might share,
It reaches Envy's proudest height;
A Sun-beam the inspiring Fair,
And Love my envy'd Brother's right.

From other leaves their glowing hues are fled,
The bough disowns them, for the leaves are dead:
But thine alone the Winter have defy'd,
And they are green , as in the Summer's pride.

In the ray that her eyes to your colours may give
Beauty's exquisite model again seems to live:
But the charm is imperfect that glows in her cheek,
As the form cannot move , and the lips cannot speak .

Y E Guardian Angels, who discover
How dearly all her Children love her,
Oh, listen to the Filial Prayer,
And shield her, with a Mother's care!
To charm, as long as breath endures,
The power is hers — the gift is yours;
Grant — for it 's all that we implore —
Her life — till she is lov'd no more!

TWENTY-FIVE years since! That morn in May
Dearest, seems near as yesterday
Hallowed by love and sacred sorrow;
So be our years till life's downward light
Fades in the dusk, so pure and brief,
In which Faith reaches her hand to Grief
And scarce the Mourner has sighed — " 'tis night! "
Than Angels cry — " 'tis morrow! "

Y E Guardian Angels, who discover
How dearly all her children love her,
Oh, listen to the filial prayer,
And shield her with a mother's care!
To charm as long as health endures,
The power is her's, the gift is yours:
Grant, for 'tis all that we implore,
Her life — till she is lov'd no more .

MY heart with joy, no Indian slave,
Its filial tribute proudly gave:
The Muse appear'd, and whisper'd thus:
" A Mother's rights are debts to us .
If jealous of the Poet's fame,
Still cherish the maternal claim,
Nor blush the feelings to display,
Which Cowper shar'd with Pope and Gray . "

By her talent a secret will Celia discover,
As the picture will speak — it will say that I love her .

W ITH Evergreen when Ladies quarrel,
'Tis mutiny against the Laurel , —
Grace of THE H ERO they admire,
And prompter of their P OET'S fire!
Nay — though surpassing all belief —
They overlook the M YRTLE'S LEAF !
Perennial charm of B EAUTY'S crown,
Of P LEASURE'S wreath, and L OVE'S renown!

Good Heaven! this Mystery of Life explain,
Nor let me think I bear the Load in vain;
Left with the tedious Passage chearless grown,
Urg'd by Despair I throw the Burden down.