› Ah soon, thine own confess'd, ecstatic thought! ROGERS'S PLEASURES OF MEMORY, NAUSICAA. SWIFT at the royal nod th' attending train Now mounting the gay seat, the silken reins The mules unharness'd range beside the main, Then emulous the royal robes they lave, (Their shining veils unbound). Along the skies Toss'd, and retoss'd, the ball incessant flies. They sport, they feast; Nausicaa lifts her voice, And warbling sweet, makes Earth and Heav'n rejoice. POPE'S ODYSSEY, ON SENSIBILITY. CELESTIAL spring! to Nature's fav'rites given; Fed by the dews that bathe the flow'rs of Heav'n. From the pure crystal of thy fountain flow The tears that trickle o'er another's wo, Thine the soft streams from Beauty's lids that steal, And thine the hallow'd flood, that drowns the eye, MY MARY. THE twentieth year is well nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast, JERNINGHAM, Ah would that this might be the last! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow "Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore; Now rust disus'd, and shine no more, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, My Mary! And still to love, though press'd with ill, And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary! COWPER. FEW HAPPY MATCHES. SAY, mighty love, and teach my song, Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains Ivies and oaks may grow and twine, Not sordid souls of earthly mould, So two rich mountains of Peru May rush to wealthy marriage too, And make a world of love. Not the mad tribe, that Hell inspires With wanton flames; those raging fires The purer bliss destroy; On Etna's top let furies wed, And sheets of lightning dress the bed, T'improve the burning joy. Nor the dull pairs, whose marble forms Logs of green wood, that quench the coals, With osiers for their bands. Not minds of melancholy strain, Nor can the soft enchantments hold Nor let the cruel fetters bind For love abhors the sight: Two kindest souls alone must meet, 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, And feeds their mutual loves. Bright Venus on her rolling throne Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, And Cupids yoke the doves. WATTS'S LYRICS. THE FIRST HOUSEWIFE. SO saying, with dispatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent What choice to choose for delicacy best, M |