HYMN XVIII.

O Lord , how shall we frame a song
To celebrate thy fame!
Our highest flights are all too low
To reach thy loftier name.

Yet should the objects of thy love
Thy praises cease to shout,
To censure such ingratitude,
The stones would soon cry out.

What was there, Lord , in sinful man
That could thy pity move,
To draw him from the gates of hell

PART II.

The Daughters of Jerusalem .

Who's this that from the desart moves,
Leaning upon the arm she loves?

The B RIDEGROOM .

At first, my love, I rais'd up thee
Under the fruitful apple-tree;
There many a pang, and many a throw
Did thy fair mother undergo;
But after many pangs and throws,
Did her blest fruit at last disclose.

The B RIDE .

O let my name be deep imprest,
Like a fair signet, on thy breast!

PART III.

The Daughters of Jerusalem .

O thou, who hast more charms ingrost,
Than all our sex beside can boast!
What charms in thy beloved dwell,
To make him other loves excel!
Describe his beauties, let us know,
Fair one, why thou adjur'st us so?

The B RIDE .

In my love's cheeks, pure white and red
In just degrees their mixture spread.
Under his standard marshal'd are
Ten thousand youths, but none so fair.
His head with finest gold is crown'd,

PART II.

All beauties reign, my love, in thee:
From every biemish thou art free.
From Leb'non come with me, my bride;
From Leb'non come with me, thy guide,
From high Amana take thy view,
From Shenir's top, and Hermon's too;
From dens where lions do reside,
From hills where savage leopards hide.
My sister and my lovely bride,
(To me by many ties ally'd)
My heart is ravish'd with thy charms;
My heart is conquer'd by thy arms.
One glance of love shot from thy eye
Has won the easy victory:

Oh ! speech is poor to paint a difference
I feel so vast! Trust, honour, tenderness —
The all that friendship asks — compose not love!
Friendship still keeps distinction. Friends are twain,
But lovers one!
Friends are two kings in dear confederance join'd,
That still rule separate empires; but in love
Both realms united, take one name, one tongue,
One law, one faith, one consequence, one crown!
Friends are two banks a kindly stream divides;
Lovers — twin clouds into each other blent
And bath'd in the same beam. Friends are like trees

FLORENCE DELMAR, UNDER A FICTITIOUS NARRATIVE, TAXES HER SUITOR WITH HIS ESTRANGED AFFECTION .

Tem. What moves you thus?
Flo. That which I read. And yet,
'Tis a stale sorrow; but a woman's wrong.
Tem. You give these moods of sentiment, these dreams
Of fancy too much sway. I pray you, Florence,
Follow example and conform your course
To custom, and the fashion of the times.
What air-spun grief o'erwrought you?
Flo. I have said,

To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life unchilled, unmoved,
To love in wintry age the same

ODE LXXV.

Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,
Stream on the breeze like floating gold;
Come, within a fragrant cloud
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;
And, on those wings that sparkling play,
Waft, oh, waft me hence away!
Love! my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury.
But she, the nymph for whom I glow,
The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe;
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues,
That time upon my forehead strews.
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms,
In store for younger, happier arms!

ODE LXXIV.

Monarch Love, resistless boy,
With whom the rosy Queen of Joy,
And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven's hue,
Disporting tread the mountain-dew;
Propitious, oh! receive my sighs,
Which, glowing with entreaty, rise
That thou wilt whisper to the breast
Of her I love thy soft behest:
And counsel her to learn from thee,
That lesson thou hast taught to me.
Ah! if my heart no flattery tell,
Thou 'lt own I 've learned that lesson well!

ODE XXXIX.

How I love the festive boy,
Tripping through the dance of joy!
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age!
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appears,
Snows may o'er his head be flung,
But his heart — his heart is young.