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THE ATTRIBUTE OF VENUS.

YES! FULVIA is like VENUS fair!
Has all her bloom, and shape, and Air!
But still, to perfect every grace,
She wants-the smile upon her face!

The crown

majestic JUNO wore,

And CYNTHIA'S brow the crescent bore!
A helmet marked MINERVA's mien;

But smiles distinguished Beauty's Queen!

Her Train was formed of Smiles and Loves,
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves ;
And from her zone, the Nymph may find
'Tis Beauty's province to be kind!

Then, smile, my Fair! and all whose aim
Aspires to paint the Cyprian Dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their Forms from you alone!

A SOLDIER'S SONG.

[GENERAL JAMES WOLFE'S SONG.

SO CALLED, BECAUSE IT IS TRADITIONALLY STATED

TO HAVE BEEN SUNG BY HIM, ON THE NIGHT BEFORE

HE WAS KILLED AT THE BATTLE OF QUEBEC,

SEPTEMBER 13, 1759.]

How stands the Glass around?
For shame! ye take no care, my Boys!
How stands the Glass around?

Let Mirth and Wine abound!
The trumpets sound!

The Colours, they are flying, Boys!
To fight, kill or wound,

May we still be found!

Content with our hard fate, my Boys!
On the cold ground!

Why, Soldiers! why
Should we be melancholy, Boys?
Why, Soldiers! why?

Whose business 'tis to die!

What! sighing! Fie!

Hang fear! Drink on! be jolly, Boys! 'Tis he! you! or I!

Cold, hot, wet, or dry;

We're always bound to follow, Boys! And scorn to fly!

'Tis but in vain!

I mean not to upbraid ye, Boys! 'Tis but in vain

For Soldiers to complain!

Should next Campaign

Send us to Him who made us, Boys! We're free from pain!

But if we remain,

A bottle and kind landlady
Cure all again!

THE FORSAKEN NYMPH.

GUARDIAN Angels! now protect me!
Send to me, the Swain I love!
CUPID! with thy bow, direct me!
Help me, all ye Powers above!
Bear him my sighs, yet gentle breezes!
Tell him, I love, and I despair!

Tell him, For him I grieve! Say, 'Tis for him I live!
O, may the Shepherd be sincere!

Through the shady grove I'll wander,
Silent as the bird of night!
Near the brink of yonder fountain,
First LEANDER blessed my sight!
Witness, ye groves and falls of water!
ECHO, repeat the vows he swore!
Can he forget me? Will he neglect me?
Shall I never see him more?

Does he love, and yet forsake me,
To admire a Nymph more fair?
If 'tis so, I'll wear the willow;
And esteem the happy pair!

Some lonely cave, I'll make my dwelling!
Ne'er more the cares of life pursue!

The lark and Philomel only shall hear me tell
What bids me bid the World Adieu!'

ABRA, OR THE GEORGIAN SULTANA.

SCENE-A FOREST.

TIME-THE EVENING.

IN GEORGIA'S land, where Tiflis' towers are seen In distant view along the level green,

While evening dews enrich the glitt'ring glade,
And the tall forests cast a longer shade;
What time 'tis sweet o'er fields of rice to stray,
Or scent the breathing maize at setting day;
Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,
EMYRA sang the pleasing cares of Love.

'Of ABRA,' first began the tender strain, 'Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain. At morn, she came those willing flocks to lead Where lilies rear them in the wat'ry mead; From early dawn, the life-long hours she told, Till late, at silent eve, she penned the fold.

'Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade, A various wreath of od'rous flowers she made: Gay mottled pinks and sweet jonquils she chose, The violet blue, that on the moss-bank grows, All sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there. The finished chaplet well adorned her hair.

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