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SONG.

BESIDE Some gently murm'ring stream,

Bright with the ev'ning sun's last beam,
I'll sit, and tune my lyre;

And there, in many a dying strain,

Of Delia's cruelty complain,

Till garish day retire.

But when the shades of night descend,
Unto the willow grove I'll wend,

With folded arms, and slow;

Pleas'd to out-muse each moon-light hour, Invoking ev'ry friendly pow'r

To ease a lover's woe.

Awake! in soothing sounds, my lyre, And let me lose each low desire

In harmony divine;

And if there be a wood-nymph near, Oh, let her whisper in mine ear, "Fair Delia shall be thine,"

SONG.

CEASE thy mourning, blue-ey'd maid,
Wipe away those pearly tears,

Why should youth's fair roses fade
In life's pleasurable years!

Sorrow for departed joys,
Never will those joys restore;
Grief each latent hope destroys,
Muse upon the past no more.

On the future fix thy gaze,
Happiness awaits thee there,
Peaceful moments, halcyon days,

Pleasure unalloy'd with care.

All thy paths are strew'd with flow'rs, Rich in fragrance, fair to sight,

Waste not then the precious hours,

Time is hasty in his flight!

O! improve life's pleasant spring,
Soon, too soon, it will be past,
Even now 'tis on the wing,

Blue-ey'd maid, it cannot last!

THE CURFEW.

HARK! the solemn curfew bell,
Sounding through the drowsy air,
As it tolls the ev'ning's knell,
Bids me for my end prepare.

Hath the day-star then declin'd? Yes, 'tis faded into night;

So alas, my darken'd mind,

Bids farewell to pleasure's light.

Will the morning sun anew,
All his orient glories bring?
Yes, but I no more shall view,
Hope expand her purple wing.

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