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Ever gentle and serene,
Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven,
The noble mind's delight and pride, To men and angels only given,
To all the lower world deny'd.
While love, unknown among the blest,
Parent of thousand wild desires, The savage and the human breast
Torments alike with raging fires.
With bright, but oft distructive gleam,
Alike o'er all his lightnings fly; Thy lambent glories only beam
Around the fav’rites of the sky.
Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys
On fools and villains ne'er descend; In vain for thee the tyrant sighs,
And hugs a flatterer for a friend.
Directress of the brave and just.
O guide us thro' Life's darksome way! And let the tortures of distrust
On selfish bosoms only prey.
Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow,
When souls to peaceful climes remove; What rais'd our virtue here below,
Shall aid our happiness above.
SENT TO A LADY AT A BALL.
Go, Muse, and strike the raptur'd lyre,
'Midst yonder groupe of festive youth, Nor wear thou Fiction's gay attire,
But the white robe of modest Truth. Among the fair, who shall thy strain attend, Thou shalt discriminate a polish'd friend.
Tell her, that if her lovely face,
Nor beauty, nor expression knew,
Allotted only to a few;
STANZAS FROM THE ARABIC.
While sad suspense and chill delay
My heart, wliich ardent love consumes,
There she, with unavailing strain,
Two younglings wait the parent bird,
Why, O why this perturbation?
Why this tumult in my breast? Why this unknown sweet sensation,
Charming, tho' it chases rest?
Why this tender soft confusion ?
Why this downcast timid eye? O'er my cheeks why this suffusion ?
Why the unconscious frequent sigh?
Why this trembling fond emotion ?
Why the pulse's maddening play? Thrilling bosom, soft commotion,
Restless night and listless day!
Why do crowds no longer please me?
Why so dear the lonely grove ?
Tell me Nancy--is this Love?