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E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their
sphere.
November 7, 1806.

TO WOMAN

WOMAN! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh

memory! thou choicest blessing When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
'Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.'

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Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your Through hours, through years, through

soft brow,

Nor deem me too happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,

Oh, think not my penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,

To awake will be torture sufficient.

TO MARY

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE

[The 'Mary' of this poem is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or Mary' of Aberdeen.]

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, Though strong as mortal art could give,

My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from beauty's
mould,

The lips which made me beauty's slave.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye, Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
'Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my
heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,

Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast control.

time, 't will cheer; My hope in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 't will appear, And meet my fond expiring gaze.

TO LESBIA

[The Lesbia of this poem is Julia Leacroft.] LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 't is I, not you, have changed, I'd tell you why, but yet I know not. Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; And, Lesbia! we are not much older, Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Sixteen was then our utmost age, Two years have lingering past away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least I feel disposed to stray, love! "T is I that am alone to blame,

I, that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

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Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, 29 New beauties still are daily bright'ning, Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed; Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love! [1806.]

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