STANZAS

TO THE COUNTRY GIRL.

BLEST nymph unknown! fair minstrel of the plain! When lyres of swelling grandeur cease to please, Shall charm thy simple, nature-breathing strain, Where sweetens Beauty's tone mellifluous ease.

Coerced by Fate, my Muse had sighed farewell,
A long farewell to all Apollo's train;

But thou hast charmed her from Retirement's cell,
And strung her loosened, tuneless chords again.

Thus while pale Morpheus walks his midnight rounds, Soft Musick's echoing voice the ear invades ;

And, Orpheus-like, with life renewing sounds, Recalls the soul from Sleep's unconscious shades.

Say, in what region, what Arcadian skies;
What ville Elysian, what Castalian grove;

Where Tempean bowers, and Attick Edens rise,
The school of Genius, and the lap of Love?

Oh! where, O! tell me, where is thy retreat?
What myrtles twine their arms to shade thy path?

What Naiad's grotto forms thy mid-day seat?

What bank thy couch, what envied stream thy bath?

Tell me but this, and lo! Menander flies,

To hail the fair, whose picture Fancy views; T'unmask the face, which charms him in disguise,

And clasp the Nymph, as he has kissed the Musc.

TO MENANDER.

THE COUNTRY GIRL TO MENANDER.

OH! cease thy too seducive strain,
Nor touch the warbling harp again;
The rapturing tones invade my heart,
And Peace and Rest will soon depart;
Love, with his downy, purple wing,
Will to my breast his roses bring;
But, ah! beneath their roseate dye,
The sharpest thorns of Anguish lie:

Then hush the enchanting, soul-detaining lyre,,
And let Indiff'rence quench the kindling fire.

Yet, oh 'tis rich, to hear the trilling sounds;
On the full swell,

With rapture dwell,

As the slow numbers steal along the grounds; Then as they rise in air,

And on the fragrant zephyrs float,

And wanton there,

How sweet, to catch the silver note!

But Wisdom wills the stern decree,

And puts a lasting bar, 'twixt love and me.
The streams of joy, that Cupid sips,
And where he laves his gilded plumes,
Must never glisten on the lips,

She says, where sober Wisdom blooms.

Thou call'st me from my native grove,
And bid'st me tell where 'tis I rove;

It is, the Goddess bids me say,

Where Love and thou must never stray:
Where Peace and Pleasure constant bloom,
And Rapture smiles around the tomb.
But though alone, with mental eye,

This form thou ne'er must view;

In answer to this deep drawn sigh,
Breathe me one last adieu;

So may full tides of joy around thee flow,

And life's more fragrant flow'rets ever blow,

SONNET

TO THE COUNTRY GIRL

HASTE, Zephyr, fly, and waft to Anna's ear

This bosom echo 'tis my heart's reply;

Say, to her notes I listened with a tear,

And caught the sweet contagion of a “sigh.”

But, ah! that "last adieu!" oh! stern request!
Cold, as those tides of vital ice, that roll

Through the chilled channels of the maiden breast,
When prudish Sanctity congeals the soul.

O'er Fancy's fairy lawn, no more we rove;

No more, in Rhyme's impervious hood arrayed,

Hold airy converse in the Muse's grove,

While you a shadow seemed, and I a shade,

For know, Menander can thy features trace,
Nor more thy verse admire, than idolize thy face!

SONNET,

TO ANNA-LOUISA, ON HER ODE TO FANCY.

SAY, child of Phœbus and the eldest Grace,
Whose lyre melodious, and enchanting face,
The blendid title of thy birth proclaim;
Say, lovely Naiad of Castalia's streams,
Why thus thy Muse on Fiction's pillow dreams,
And fondly woos the rainbow-mantled Dame ?
When stern Misfortune, with her Gorgon frown,
Congeals the fairy face of Bliss to stone,

Hope to the horns of Fancy's altar flies;
But what gay nun would seek asylum there,
When Beauty, Love and Fortune crown the fair,
And Hymen's temple greets her raptured eyes?
Then haste, sweet nymph, to bless the ardent youth;
Then, Fancy, "blush to be excelled by Truth."

STANZAS

TO ANNA, ON HER VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA.

COME, power ethereal, whose mellifluous aid

Taught Shenstone's lyre with dulcet swell to move,

Sweet, as the minstrel of the evening shade,

Soft, as the languor in the eye of Love!

1

Come, lend my artless hand thy magick charm,
To deck the wreath, on Anna's brow entwined;
In notes majestick, as her heavenly form;

In verse irradiant, as her brilliant mind.

From the bleak sky of Boston's sea-girt shore,
The Sun and Anna seek benigner plains;
Where'er he shines, rude Winter storms no more,
Where'er she visits, Spring florescent reigns.

She smiles and all the Loves their arrows wing;
She moves-the Goddess by her gait is known;
She chants and all inspired, the Muses sing;

She speaks 'tis peerless Anna's self alone!

All welcome, lovely fair-one, queen of grace,
Thou sigh and hope, by every heart expressed;
Add to the sparkling triumphs of thy face,

The humble tribute of Menander's breast!

The two following Pieces were written in answer to some one, who, under the signature of TRUTH, had attacked Mr. Paine in language, here distinguished by inverted commas.

TO TRUTH.

"BEGs not, but steals!" If ought with furtive view
From elder bards my muse hath e'er purloined,
She scorns those artless thefts, performed by you,
Who steal the dross, but leave the gold behind.

"With all the charms of lofty nonsense graced!"

Such "nonsense" surely can't with thine agree;