AN AUTHOR'S CONSOLATION

FOR MISTATING HISTORICAL FACTS.

ON

On many a subject though the Learned say
That I have err'd, and widely gone astray;
To other Judges I with comfort look:
For Fools think otherwise, and buy my Book.

CHARLOTTE'S BIRTH-DAY.

My Charlotte on this Day was born-
The Loves and Venus know it;
With fragrant wreaths my brows adorn,
For I am Charlotte's Poet.

I sing, that at my Charmer's birth

The Graces flock'd around her; Some latent charm Each calling forth, While Cupid fondly crown'd her.

Spring gave the God each op'ning flow'r

That decks the lap of Nature;

Selecting from his choicest bow'r

An emblem of each feature.

The

e Lily join'd her spotless mien, With crimson tint adorning, And on her dewy lip was seen

The Rose-bud of the morning.

The Vi'let in her breath was prais'd,
No scent was sweet without her;
And when her lovely eyes she rais'd
'Twas Sunshine all about her.

Like mountain-snow her bosom rose,
To Nature's impulse swelling;
And there his seat warm Passion chose,
And Candour took her dwelling.

Her eyes were mirrors rarely known,
Like daylight, nothing screening;

In ev'ry look distinctly shone

Her heart and all its meaning.

Such was the Birth of her I love

And cherish most sincerely:

Her constant Bard I'll ever prove,
And sing the record yearly.

MY

MY WORLD WITHOUT END;

OR THE

ANTICIPATION OF HEAVEN.

THE heart once engag'd, can it beat for another,
Or even to Kindness a passion return?

Oh, can it, my Friend, the warm sentiments smother,
Or quench what by Nature is destin'd to burn?

Alas! I too well in this bosom discover

A fond lov'd idea which nothing can part; Though Friendship may charm, all its infl'ence is over The instant I think of the Lord of my Heart.

Then talk not of Duty, nor yet talk of Reason,

For neither can conquer stern Nature's decrce; 'Gainst both I must always be guilty of treason, While Nature impels me, sweet William, to thee.

Yes, thou art the charm, the delight of thy Mary,
On thee, and thee only, her wishes attend;

In thinking of thee she can never be weary,

For thou art my World, and my World without end.

ON

ON BEING ASKED WHY I AVOIDED FEMALE SOCIETY.

HAD you e'er felt, as I have done,

A proffer'd heart deny'd,

Because it did not fortune own

To meet the views of Pride;
Like me, perhaps, you might mistrust
The glare of Female Charms,

Like me, lament that paltry Dust

Should bribe them from your arms.

Yet Heav'n forgive the girl I lov'd—
She, too, forgive herself!
Her bosom was by Duty mov'd,
And that, alas! by Pelf:

For purchas'd charms too often prove
Their owner's keen distress;

Disgusted with the buyer's love,
'And hunger'd in excess.

THE LOVERS' QUARREL.

WRITTEN ON THE 21ST OF DECEMBER, 1803.

WE quarrell'd on the shortest day ;

The sweet result was this:
We laugh'd the longest night away
In scenes of mutual bliss.

Oh,

Oh, may it thus for ever prove
With hearts that know no guile :
An instant be the frown of Love,
A century the smile!

THE COXCOMB'S TEAR.

THE Tear that marks the Coxcomb's cheek
From Feeling seldom flows;
His sighs no other language speak

Than what vain Fashion knows,

To Sentiment a restless foe,

To Virtue never true,

His rapture is another's woe;

His triumph, to undo.

From him the sigh, the ready tear,
Each tempting Beauty draws:
His creed is never once to hear,
But laugh at Honour's laws.
Then tell me not that tears and sighs
Are proofs of honest Love,
Since every Villain's marshall'd eyes

In seeming truth can move.

Ah! rather learn to prize that heart
Which struggles to conceal
The passion those dear eyes impart,
The secret pangs I feel.

The