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A LOVE SONG IN THE MODERN TASTE.-1733.

DEAN SWIFT.

or

ALEXANDER POPE.

Born 1667-Died 1744. Born 1688-Died 1744.

Fluttering spread thy purple pinions,

Gentle Cupid ! o'er my heart;
I a slave in thy dominions,

Nature must give way to art.

Mild Arcadians ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days' consuming

All beneath yon flowery rocks.
Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,

Mourn’d Adonis, darling youth,
Him the boar, in silence creeping,

Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.
Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers,

Fair Discretion, string the lyre,
Sooth my ever waking numbers,

Bright Apollo ! lend thy choir.
Gloomy Pluto! king of terrors,

Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors

Wat'ring soft Elysian plains.

Mournful cypress, verdant willow,

Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my pillow,

Hear me pay my dying vows.
Melancholy, smooth Meander

Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,

With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.
Thus when Philomela drooping,

Softly seeks her silent mate;
See the birds of Juno stooping :

Melody resigns to fate.

[This exquisite satire on too many songs is printed in Swift's Poetical Works, last edition by Mitford, vol. ii. p. 53, and Pope's Poetical Works, last edition by Dyce, vol. ii. p. 185, where it is entitled a “ Song by a Person of Quality." Whose property is this song the Dean's, or the nightingale of Twickenham's; In the fifth Folume of Swift's Miscellanies, 1735, p. 129, it is printed in the midst of numerous pieces undoubtedly from the Dean's pen.]

SWEET ARE THE CHARMS OF HER I LOVE.

BARTON BOOTH.

Born 1081-Died 1733.

Sweet are the charms of her I love,

More fragrant than the damask rose;
Soft as the down of turtle dove,

Gentle as air when Zephyr blows,
Refreshing as descending rains
To sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains.

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True as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the sun; Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon; From every other charmer free, My life and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flowery thyme devours,

The damn the tender kid pursues ; Sweet Philomel in shady bowers

Of verdant Spring her note renews ; All follow what they most admire, As I pursue my soul's desire.

Nature must change her beauteous face,

And vary as the seasons rise ;
As winter to the spring gives place,

Summer th' approach of autumn fies : No change on love the seasons bring, Love only knows perpetual spring.

Devouring time, with stealing pace,

Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow; And marble tow'rs and gates of brass,

In his rude march he levels low : But time, destroying far and wide, Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only, with his cruel dart,

The gentle godhead can remove; And drive him from the bleeding heart

To mingle with the bless'd above, Where, known to all his kindred train, He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the Soul,

Twin-born, from heav'n together came : Love will the universe controul,

When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his pow'r, When time and death shall be no more.

'TWAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING.

JOUN GAY.

Born 1688-Died 1732.

'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd:
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wishful look,
Her head was crown'd with willows,

That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over

And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou ventrous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean

And let a lover rest;
Ah! what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast ?

The merchant robb'd of pleasure

Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure

To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on

Where gold and diamonds grow, You'll find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

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All melancholy lying

Thus wail'd she for her dear, Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear ; When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she 'spied; Then like a lily drooping

She bow'd her head and died.

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