"Past. Fid_."
And are you then a thing of art,
Seducing all, and loving none;
And have I strove to gain a heart
Which every coxcomb thinks his own?
Tell me at once if this be true,
And I will calm my jealous breast;
Will learn to join the dangling crew,
And share your simpers with the rest.
But if your heart be _not_ so free,--
Oh! if another share that heart,
Tell not the hateful tale to me,
But mingle mercy with your art.
I'd rather think you "false as hell,"
Than find you to be all divine,--
Than know that heart could love so well,
Yet know that heart would not be mine!
TO PHILLIS.
Phillis, you little rosy rake,
That heart of yours I long to rifle;
Come, give it me, and do not make
So much ado about a _trifle_!
TO A LADY.
ON HER SINGING.
Thy song has taught my heart to feel
Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love,
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal
When listening to the spheres above!
When, tired of life and misery,
I wish to sigh my latest breath,
Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee,
And thou shalt sing me into death.
And if along thy lip and cheek
That smile of heavenly softness play,
Which,--ah! forgive a mind that's weak,--
So oft has stolen my mind away.
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