224

Hesperides.”

TO BLOSSOMES.

BY THE SAME.

FAIRE pledges of a fruitfulle tree,
Why do ye fall so faste?

Your date too soone is paste.
Oh! staye with us a littel while,
To blushe, and bloome, and gentlie smile,
And goe at last.

Were ye, but borne to be

A littel daye's delite?

And so to bid good nighte!
Oh! Nature never brought ye forthe
Merely to showe your worthe
And lose ye quite.

No, no, ye lovelie blossomes, ye

Telle us howe soone things have

Their ende, though sweete and brave: And after they have showne their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide

Into the grave.

LINES TO MISS EMMA D-S. WHILE I, the modest MUSES woo, The smiling GRACES wait on you, And bid the glowing pencil give Forms that breathe, and scenes that live. Oh! happy ARTS, which wear away The tedium of the lonely day; Oh! happy ARTS! which gild the hour, Under sad Solitude's drear power.

But say, fair ARTIST, as your skill Draws out the pictured thoughts at will, Does not the frequent heaving sigh, Does not oft times the tearful eye, Lament the want of social cheer,

and Bowres;

Fair Artist! this is so with me,
With bleeding breast myself I see,
Without the joys I long have proved,
Of loving, and of being loved.

Brydal cakes ;

Her image, who had all my care;
With whom, for many years, kind Heaven
To me bade every bless be given.
O! will you, EMMA, will you, say,
For me, my angel Jane! portray,
That I may wear her on that breast,
She render'd long completely blest;
And near that heart her image bear,
Who is for ever worshipp'd THERE.