"LOVE sat in his bower one summer day

And Care, with his train, came to drive him away:

'I will not depart,' said Love;

And, seizing his lute-with silvery words,
He ran his bright fingers along the cords,
And play'd so sweet, so entrancing an air,
That a grim smile lit up the face of Care.
'Away, away!' said Love.

"Nay, nay; I have friends!' grim Care replied; 'Behold, here is one-and his name is Pride!' 'I care not for Pride,' said Love.

Then touching the strings of his light guitar,

Pride soon forgot his lofty air:

And seizing the hand of a rustic queen,

Laugh'd, gamboll'd, and tripped it o'er the green. 'Aha! aha!' said Love.

"Away with your jeers!' cried Care, if you please, Here's another—lank, haggard, and pale Disease!' 'I care not for him,' said Love.

Then touch'd a strain so plaintive and weak,
That a flush pass'd over his pallid cheek;
And Disease leap'd up from his couch of pain,
And smil'd, and re-echoed the healing strain.
'Well done for Disease!' said Love.

"Pshaw! pshaw!' cried Care-' this squalid one, see! How lik'st thou the gaunt looks of Poverty?'

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'I care not for him,' said Love.

Then struck such a sound from his viol's string,

That Poverty shouted aloud, ‘I'm King!

The jewell'd wreaths round my temples shall twine, For the sparkling gems of Golconda are mine!'

Ay, ay-very true!' said Love.

Nay, boast not!' said Care-' there is fretful Old Age, Beware of his crutches, and tempt not his rage!' 'I care not for Age,' said Love.

Then swept the strings of his magic lyre,

Till the glazed eye sparkled with youthful fire;
And Age dropp'd his crutches, and, light as a fay,
Laugh'd, caper'd, and danced, like a child at play!
'Bravo, Sir Eld!' said Love.

'A truce,' cried wrinkled Care, 'with thy glee!
Now look on this last one-'tis Jealousy !'
'Ah me! ah me!' said Love.

'Her green eye burns with quenchless fire-
I die! I die!' Then, dropping his lyre,
Love flew far away from his cherish'd bower,
And never return'd from that fatal hour!
Alas, for thee, blighted love!”

"Dear Emma, wilt thou have me,
My first, my only love?
In wedlock I'll receive thee,
Thou treasure from above."

"Oh! yes, I love thee, Charlie : For thee alone I care;

No longer will I parley:

Cupid whispers in my ear."