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Contented with her own.
SONG BY A WOMAN.
Each day, each hour, her name I'll bless,
The hardy veteran after struck the sight, Scarr'd, mangled, maim'd in every part, Lopp'd of his limbs in many a gallant fight, In nought entire—except his heart:Mute for a while, and sullenly distress'd, At last the impetuous sorrow fired his breast. Wild is the whirlwind rolling O'er Afric's sandy plain, And wild the tempest howling Along the billow'd main:But every danger felt before, The raging deep, the whirlwind's roar, Less dreadful struck me with dismay, Than what I feel this fatal day. Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave, Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave;I'll seek that less inhospitable coast, And lay my body where my limbs were lost.
SONG. BY A MAN BASSO SPIRITUOSO.
Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
In innocence and youth complaining,
3 These lines altered from Collins's Ode on the Death of Col. Ross.
I'll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom;
SONG. BY A WOMAN PASTORALE.
With garlands of beauty the queen of the May No more will her crook or her temples adorn; For who'd wear a garland when she is away, When she is remov'd, and shall never return.
On the grave of Augusta these garlands be plac'd,
CHORUS ALTRO MODO.
4On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac'd,
4 'Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
Collins's Dirge in Cymbeline.
LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DR. GOLDSMITH,
INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE
E'en have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew,
When first its virgin tints unfold to view,
It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.
So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek;I gaz'd, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak.
THE FOLLOWING POEMS HAVE NEVER BEEN INCORPORATED WITH THE PRECEDING ONES OF GOLDSMITH.
(See Citizen of the World, ii. 87). It is the business of the stage poet to watch the appearance of every new player at his own house, and so come out next day with a flaunting copy of newspaper verses. In these nature and the actor may be set to run races, the player always coming off victorious: or nature may mistake him for herself; or old Shakespeare may put on his winding sheet, and pay him a visit, or the tuneful Nine may strike up their harps in his praise; or should it happen to be an actress,Venus, the beauteous Queen of Love, and the naked graces, are ever in waiting. The
lady must be herself a goddess bred and born; she must
but you shall have a specimen of one of these poems, which may convey a more precise idea.
ON SEEING MRS. • • PERFORM IN THE
For you, bright fair, the Nine address their lays,