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Would ye in marble temples dwell,
The dear one to my arms compel;
Bring her in bands of myrtle tied ;
Bid her forget, and bid her hide
All her scorn and all her pride.
Would ye

that
your
slave

repay
A smoking hecatomb each day?

O restore
The beauteous goddess I adore !
O restore with all her charms,
The faithless vagrant to my arms !

THE PARTING KISS.

ROBERT DODSLEY.

Born 1703-Died 1764.

One kind kiss before we part,

Drop a tear and bid adieu :
Though we sever, my fond heart

Till we meet shall pant for you.
Yet, yet, weep not so iny love,

Let me kiss that falling tear,
Though my body must remove,

All my soul will still be here.
All my soul and all my heart,
And
every

wish shall pant for you;
One kind kiss then ere we part,

Drop a tear and bid adieu ?

[Dodsloy was a well-known bookseller in Pall Mall, to which rank, encouraged by Pope, he rose from a gentleman's servant.]

every

FANNY FAIR
To Fanny fair could I impart

The cause of all my woc!
That beauty which has won my heart,

She scarcely seems to know :
Unskill'd in art of womankind,

Without design she charms;
How can those sparkling eyes be blind,

Which bosom warms?
She knows her power is all deceit,

The conscious blushes shows,
Those blushes to the eye more sweet

Than th’ op’ning budding rose :
Yet the delicious fragrant rose,

That charms the sense so much,
Upon a thorny brier grows,

And wounds with ev'ry touch.
At first when I beheld the fair,

With raptures I was blest;
But as I would approach more ncar,

At once I lost my rest;
Th’inchanting sight, the sweet surprise,

Prepare me for my doom ;
One cruel look from those bright eyes
Will lay me in

my

tomb. From the Tea Table Miscellany. Burns in his first letter to George

Thomson, calls it insipid stuff and a disgrace to a collection of songs.' The Editor had great misgivings after such an opinion from

such a man as Burns whether he should insert it-bat as the poet

says in his Dream:

There's mony waar been o' the race, 80 he thought proper here to admit it.)

DELIA.

GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON.

Born 1709--Died 1773.

When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
No other voice but hers can hear,
No other wit but hers approve :
Tell me my heart if this be love?

If she some other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The clearest spring, or shadiest grove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain ;
I strove to hate, but vainly strove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

MY RA.

GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON,

Say, Myra, why is gentle love

A stranger to that mind,
Which pity and esteem can move;

Which can be just and kind ?
Is it, because you fear to share

The ills that Love molest;
The jealous doubt, the tender care,

That rack the amorous breast?

Alas! by some degree of woe

We every bliss must gain :
The heart can ne'er a transport know,

That never feels a pain.

THE HEAVY HOURS ARE ALMOST PASS'D.

GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON.

The heavy hours are almost pass'd

That part my love and me:
My longing eyes may hope at last

Their only wish to see.
But how, my Delia, will you meet

The man you've lost so long?
Will love in all your pulses beat,

And tremble on your tongue ?

Will you

in
every

look declare Your heart is still the same, And heal each idly anxious care,

Our fears in absence frame.

Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene,

When shortly we shall meet; And try what yet remains between

Of loitering time to cheat.

But if the dream that soothes my mind

Shall false and groundless prove ; If I am doom'd at length to find

You have forgot to love;

All I of Venus ask, is this :

No more to let us join: But grant me here the flattering bliss To die, and think you

mine.

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Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now,

And Celia has undone me; And yet I swear I can't tell how

The pleasing plague stole on me.

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