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Would ye in marble temples dwell,
THE PARTING KISS.
Born 1703-Died 1764.
One kind kiss before we part,
Drop a tear and bid adieu :
Till we meet shall pant for you.
Let me kiss that falling tear,
All my soul will still be here.
wish shall pant for you;
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.]
The cause of all my woc!
She scarcely seems to know :
Without design she charms;
Which bosom warms?
The conscious blushes shows,
Than th’ op’ning budding rose :
That charms the sense so much,
And wounds with ev'ry touch.
With raptures I was blest;
At once I lost my rest;
Prepare me for my doom ;
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.)
GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON.
Born 1709--Died 1773.
When Delia on the plain appears,
Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
If she some other youth commend,
When she is absent, I no more
GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON,
Say, Myra, why is gentle love
A stranger to that mind,
Which can be just and kind ?
The ills that Love molest;
That rack the amorous breast?
Alas! by some degree of woe
We every bliss must gain :
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:
Their only wish to see.
The man you've lost so long?
And tremble on your tongue ?
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
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.