The die is cast, and we must part,
Forgive me if I say we must;
Must make again exchange of heart,
But never more exchange of trust.
With faces cold and stern must meet,
While inward fires consume our souls,
Must pass as strangers in the street,
While o'er our hope the death bell tolls.

We met but a short while ago,
And all my sky was clouded o'er
You loved, and scattered all my woe,
Loved as I ne'er was loved before.
You taught my hungry heart to hope,
And filled love's chaliee to the brim,

1

The dew it trembles on the thorn
Then vanishes so love is born
Young love that speaks in silent thought
'Till scorned, then withers and is nought

2

The pleasure of a single hour
The blooming of a single flower
The glitter of the morning dew
Such is young love when it is new

3

The twitter of the wild birds wing
The murmur of the bees
Lays of hay crickets when they sing
Or other things more frail than these

4

Such is young love when silence speaks
Till weary with the joy it seeks

Desponding Phyllis was endu'd
With ev'ry Talent of a Prude,
She trembled when a Man drew near;
Salute her, and she turn'd her Ear:
If o'er against her you were plac'd
She durst not look above your Waist;
She'd rather take you to her Bed
Than let you see her dress her Head;
In Church you heard her through the Crowd
Repeat the Absolution loud;
In Church, secure behind her Fan
She durst behold that Monster, Man:
There practic'd how to place her Head,
And bit her Lips to make them red:

Or on the Mat devoutly kneeling

Deceav'd and undeceav'd to be
At once I seek with equal care,
Wretched in the discovery,
Happy if cozen'd still I were:
Yet certain ill of ill hath lesse
Then the mistrust of happinesse.

But if when I have reach'd my Aime,
(That which I seek less worthy prove,)
Yet still my Love remains the same,
The subject not deserving Love;
I can no longer be excus'd,
Now more in fault as less abus'd.

Then let me flatter my Desires,
And doubt what I might know too sure,
He that to cheat himself conspires,

Death may be very gentle after all:
He turns his face away from arrogant knights
Who fling themselves against him in their fights;
But to the loveliest he loves to call.
And he has with him those whose ways were mild
And beautiful; and many a little child.

Dearest love, do you remember,
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country,
Ever to be true.

Chorus

Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain!
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again!

When the summer breeze is sighing,
Mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying,

To the Printer of the Chester Courant

Dear object of my love, whose pow'rful charms
With bliss ecstatic filled my clinging arms!
That bliss is past; and nought for me remains,
But foul reproach, and never-pitied pains!
For (nature baffling ev'ry art I tried)
My sister has my waxing waist descried,
And brands me oft with each opprobious name,
Though the crack's conscious she deserves the same:
Her loose associate, sated, from her flies,
And oft, though vainly, to seduce me tries;
True as a wife, I only want the name;

TO
[Mrs. M. R.]
COUNCEL
CONCERNING HER
CHOISE.

Dear, heavn-designed Soul !
Amongst the rest
Of suters that beseige your Maiden brest,
Why may not I
My fortune try
And venture to speak one good word
Not for my self alas, but for my dearer L ORD ?
You'ave seen allready, in this lower sphear
Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here.

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till,
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

D ANTE , a sigh that rose from the heart's core
Assailed me, while I slumbered, suddenly:
So that I woke o' the instant, fearing sore
Lest it came thither in Love's company:
Till, turning, I beheld the servitor
Of Lady Lagia: " Help me," so said he,
" O help me, Pity." Though he said no more,
So much of Pity's essence entered me,
That I was ware of Love, those shafts he wields
A-whetting, and preferred the mourner's quest
To him, who straightway answered on this wise:
" Go tell my servant that the lady yields,