love poem

Some happy days we proved
While thou my heart possest,
I loving thee and loved,
Thou blessing me and blest.
When thou becam'st a foe
Disdain replaced desire,
With disdain I tell thee so,
While mingled shame and ire
From my gift neglected, flow,
As I strip the leaves now faded
From the Laurel wreaths I braided.

Here an amorous old Miss lies alone , but unwilling:
In the rent of a Tenant she found a bad shilling;
So, as Love ready-made and the taxes were high,
She resolv'd in the balance of credits to die.

EPITAPH ON A VERY HANDSOME, BUT VAIN, UNINTERESTING, AND SELFISH Woman .

H ERE lies a figure exquisitely made:
Clos'd are the eyes that shone with bright parade: —
The Loves had finish'd each exterior part,
But Grace and Beauty overlook'd the Heart .

Here I bid you all adieu,
I no more am one of you;
Ideots that are left above,
Dupes to Fortune or to Love!

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOËTHE

Unnoticed in the lonely mead,
A Violet rear'd its modest head,
A sweet and lovely flower;
A blooming maid came gadding by,
With vacant heart, and gladsome eye,
And tripp'd with sportive careless tread.

" Ah! " thought the Violet, " had I now
The Rose's matchless form and glow,
Though transient were the power;
To be but pluck'd by that sweet maid,
And on her virgin bosom laid; —
Bless'd fate, what more could Heaven bestow? "

WHICH A DYING LOVER DIRECTED HIS FRIENDS TO FILL WITH HIS
ASHES PULVERIZED .

M ARK the pure crystal that contains
All that of Strephon's love remains;
Dust — in whose emblem is express'd
That Love must never hope to rest.

The hand of Death his parting soul disarms:
He dies, in Virtue's love — in Beauty's arms:
Descending Angels consecrate the tear,
And they accept him — from an Angel here .

To covet an appropriate bliss,
The Decalogue has made a sin;
But envy at a common kiss
Makes a poor guilt, not worth a pin.
Mine 's an offence that Kings might share,
It reaches Envy's proudest height;
A Sun-beam the inspiring Fair,
And Love my envy'd Brother's right.

Y E Guardian Angels, who discover
How dearly all her Children love her,
Oh, listen to the Filial Prayer,
And shield her, with a Mother's care!
To charm, as long as breath endures,
The power is hers — the gift is yours;
Grant — for it 's all that we implore —
Her life — till she is lov'd no more!

L AST in these favour'd ranks of Hymen's train
Matilda wears the myrtle's hallow'd chain.
Perhaps a Hermit's musing visions fail
To bind in Zephyr's hand the Summer's gale;
Else he could promise to so match'd a pair
Love at the heart, and spirits light as air.
I warn'd her against pride; — but when like this,
It is the Fairy's wand of nuptial bliss —
Pride in the rank that Love has made his own,
For sense and virtue are a scepter'd throne.