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Yet, as I quit her vale, my sighs

At ev'ry step for JULIA mourn; My anxious heart within me dies,

And, panting, whispers, " O return.”

Deluded heart! thy folly know,

Nor fondly nurse a fatal flame : By absence thou wilt lose thy woe, And only flutter at her name.

SONG.

O SUMMER, thy presence gives warmth to the vale;

The song of the warbler enlivens the groves;

The pipe of the shepherd, too, gladdens the gale:

Alas! but I hear not the voice of

my love.

The lilies appear in their fairest array ;

To the vallies the woodbines a fragrance impart; The roses the pride of their blushes display;

Alas! but I meet not the nymph of my heart.

Go, shepherds, and bring the sweet wanderer here, The boast of her sex, and delight of the swains; Go, zephyr, and whisper this truth in her car, That the PLEASURES with JULIA are fled from the plains.

If thus to the maid thou my wishes declare,
To the cot she has left she will quickly return;
Too soft is her bosom to give us despair,

That sooner would sigh than another's should

mourn.

SONG.

ON JULIA.

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ERE 'witching Love my heart possest, And bade my sighs the nymph pursue; Calm as the infant's smiling rest,

No anxious hope nor fear it knew,

But doom'd, ah! doom'd at last to mourn, What tumults in that heart arose!

An ocean tumbling wild, and torn

By tempests from its deep reposc.

Yet let me not the virgin blame,

As though she wish'd my heart despair; How could the maid suspect a flame,

Who never knew that she was fair?

TO JULIA.

FROM her whom ev'ry heart must love,
And ev'ry eye with wonder see;

My sad, my lifeless steps remove~~-
Ah! were she fair alone for me!

In vain to solitudes I fly,

To bid her form from mem'ry part; That form still dwells on mem'ry's eye, And roots its beauties in my heart.

In ev'ry rose that decks the vales,

I see her check's pure blush appear: And when the lark the morning hails,

'Tis JULIA's voice salutes my ear.

Thus, let me rove the world around,

Whatever beauty's charm can boast, Or soothe the soul with sweetest sound, Must paint the idol I have lost.

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WHEN love hath charm'd the virgin's car,

She hides the tender thought in vain:

How oft a blush, a sigh, a tear,

Betrays the sweetly-anxious pain!

Dear youth! a mutual flame I own:

The sorrows of thy breast are mine;

Thy virtues all my heart have won,

That boasts a passion pure as thine.

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