And in exulting joys discover

All the charms that once were mine;

I think I should be sweetly blest,
If, in a soft imperfect sigh,
You'd say, while to his bosom prest,
He loves not half so well as I !

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

SEE how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
You little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for awhile,
And murmuring then subsides to rest.

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;

And, having swell'd a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity!

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER.

TO MRS.

MYSELF, dear Julia! and the Sun, Have now two years of rambling run; And he before his wheels has driven The grand menagerie of Heaven, While I have met on earth, I swear, As many brutes as he has there. The only difference I can see Betwixt the flaming god and me, Is, that his ways are periodic, And mine, I fear, are simply oddic. But, dearest girl! 'tis now a lapse Of two short years, or less, perhaps, Since you to me, and I to you, Vow'd to be ever fondly true!— Ah, Julia! those were pleasant times! You loved me for my amorous rhymes ; And I loved you, because I thought "Twas so delicious to be taught By such a charming guide as you, With eyes of fire and lips of dew,

All I had often fancied o'er,

But never, never felt before :

The day flew by, and night was short
For half our blisses, half our sport!

I know not how we changed, or why,
Or if the first was you or I :
Yet so 'tis now, we meet each other,
And I'm no more than Julia's brother;
While she's so like my prudent sister,
There's few would think how close I've kiss'd her.

But, Julia, let those matters pass
If you will brim a sparkling glass
To vanish'd hours of true delight,
Come to me after dusk to-night.
I'll have no other guest to meet you,
But here alone I'll téte-à-tête you,
Over a little attic feast,

As full of cordial soul at least,

As those where Delia met Tibullus,
Or Lesbia wanton'd with Catullus. *

* Cœnam, non sine candidâ puellâ.
CAT. Carm. xiii.

I'll sing you many a roguish sonnet

About it, at it, and upon

it:

And songs address'd, as if I loved,

To all the girls with whom I've roved.
Come, pr'ythee come, you'll find me here,
Like Horace, waiting for his dear.*
There shall not be to-night, on earth,
Two souls more elegant in mirth;
And, though our hey-day passion's fled,
The spirit of the love that's dead
Shall hover wanton o'er our head;
Like souls that round the grave
In which their late possessors lie:
And who, my pretty Julia, knows,
But when our warm remembrance glows,
The ghost of Love may act anew,
What Love when living used to do!

-puellam

Ad mediam noctem expecto.

will fly,

HOR. lib. i. sat. 5.

AN ODE UPON MORNING.

TURN to me, Love! the morning rays
Are glowing o'er thy languid charms;
Take one luxurious parting gaze,
While yet I linger in thine arms.

'Twas long before the noon of night.
I stole into thy bosom, dear!
And now the glance of dawning light
Has found me still in dalliance here.

Turn to me, Love! the trembling gleams
Of morn along thy white neck stray;
Away, away, you envious beams,

I'll chase you with my lips away!

Oh! is it not divine to think,—

While all around were lull'd in night, While even the planets seem'd to wink,We kept our vigils of delight?

The heart, that little world of ours, Unlike the drowsy world of care, Then, then awaked its sweetest powers, And all was animation there!