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Compassion too, not partially inclin'd,
TO A LADY.
HAD I but known, by Aikin's tender tale,
I touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hung; Believe me, gentle nymph of Scarsdale’s vale,
I'd left his lyre, I'd left my own unstrung,
In this world's chequer'd scene, where thorns of woe
Amid the flow'rs of joy, in ambush lie ;
Which gives one virtuous girl, a hapless sigh.
Though the bright tears, that to thy eyelids stole,
Hanging like dew drops, on the glist’ning rose ;
“ Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;": But gems of Sympathy, how seldom seen,
Though none with these, in value can compare !
The precious pearl of sympathetic woe,
Which deck'd the lustre, of thy steady eye, Made my tears too, in silent sorrow flow,
And waft to thee the tribute of a sigh.
Forgive him, then, in pity to thy fate,
Who touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hung; Since from that hour, his sorrows he may date,
Who is, like thee, by Cupid's poison stung.
. UPON A LADY,
Who repulsed me, as I was going to salute her, and
put on a grare angry look.
THOUGII Flies may rifle Delia's charms,
Her heav'nly nectar sip;
To touch sweet Delia's lip.
Then why should man behold with scorn!
The happier insect race ?
What human forms disgrace.
Oh that I could but change my shape,
And be an insect too,
And all her beauties view.
But ah! alas! I cannot hope
To change this human mien; For that same God, who form’d my clay,
Has their Creator been.
But I can quit these once lov'd scenes,
Since winter's frosts appear; And hasten to some warmer clime,
Where cold nor storm I fear.
For now my charming Delia frowns,
The East wind chills my breast, Which, till she smiles, no more will feel
The zephyrs of the West,