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Every gazer's eye attracting,
Each admirer's soul distracting.
Wheresoe'er her eyes she turns,
Each youth with fiercer passion burns,
And.Venus' self might quit the skies
With her to strive for beauty's prize.


WITH softer form, with milder air,
More sweetly, but less brightly fair;
Strong attraction in her eyes
The place of fiercer fires supplies,
While her cheeks with varying glow
Each passion of her bosom show.
A feeling heart, that bosom warms,
And sweetness in her manners charms.


BUT say, what Nymph, now meets my view?
Chloe, it is surely you.
Light she trips along the way,
Ever pleasing, ever gay,
Dimpling cheeks and sparkling eyes
Many an unwary heart surprise.

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NOW again we turn the glass,
See a different figure pass.
She whose cultivated mind,
With strong self-taught sense combin'd
Needs not the aid of vulgar rules
That only serve to fetter fools.


SEE at last the maid return'd
For whose absence long we mourn'd;
With graceful air, with shape genteel,
With heart another's woes to feel.
With face as fair as youthful May,
And once the gayest of the gay.
But, tell me, Laura, whence that sigh?
Whence that tear that dims thine eye?
That eye, that erst with piercing ray,
Gave new radiance to the day.
Ah! that envious cloud remove
Let it beam again with love,
Let joy its former place resume,
And banish far that sadd’ning gloom.


BUT while the rest in beauteous throng, Gay, and lovely move along; Why does Delia, still delay Her modest graces to display? Why does she her smiles deny? Blushing beauty, tell me why.Timid fair one, do not fear, With theirs thy virtues to compare; They are lovely it is true, But Delia thou art lovely too. Though retir'd the vi'let grows, Though half seen the budding rose, Are they therefore less admir'd Because half seen, because retir'd. Though thy faithful glass may show Rosy cheeks, and neck of snow, Yet no glass can e'er impart The image of thy gentle heart. No malignant passion there Ever ventur'd to appear, But softest tend'rest thoughts alone There fix their everlasting throne.


LONG, long, has fleeting Hope's gay pow'r

Forsook my pillow of repose; And over each slow passing hour

Her shadows, Disappointment throws.

Fond Hope, no more thy rule I own;

Too well I know thou dost beguile; Thy flatt'ring prospects soon are flown,

Thou stabbest with a friendly smile.

For once I bow'd the suppliant knee,

Some favours at thy shrine to gain; And many an eager vow to thee,

Deceiver, I have form'd in vain.

I thought the world was good and fair,

I thought it form’d for love and joy'; But soon I found that grief and care

Each pleasure in the bud destroy.

Then trait'ress hence! nor tempt a heart

That all thy empty aid denies;
For where thy fond dreams claim a part,
Contentment from the bosom flies.


But say, what clears the cloud away

That hung till now upon my sight? Why beats my pulse with quicker play?

Why glows my bosom with delight?

I know what makes these clouds retire,

Why with new warmth my bosom burns; Joy lights again his genial fire,

For Delia smiles, and Hope returns.

O Hope, I shun thy paths in vain;

Too strong, too dear thy breathing vow! I feel thee throb in every vein,

With fervour never known till now.

I yield to thee-forgive the verse

That rashly thy dispraises bore;
For how should I thy charms rehearse?

Sweet Hope! I knew thee not before

Then charm me with thy dulcet voice,

With views of bliss my cares beguile, And paint a thousand opening joys,

That promise in my Delia's smile.

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