But when my seven long years are out, Oh then I'll marry Sally, Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, But not in our alley. Henry Carey. MEMORY. O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver, Thon, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing, And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever find a foe. Goldsmith. HOPE. THE wretch condemn'd with life to part Still, still on hope relies; And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way; And, still as darker grows the night, VOL. V. Goldsmith. WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY. The only art her guilt to cover, Goldsmith. THE ROSE. THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r, The cups were all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, To weep for the buds it had left with regret I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, ' And such,' I exclaim'd, 'is the pitiless part, Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart, "This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile, And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. Cowper. THE BRAES OF YARROW. 'THY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. 'He promis'd me a milk-white steed, To bear me to his father's bowers; He promis'd me a little page, To 'squire me to his father's tow'rs; He promis'd me a wedding-ring, The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ;— Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow! 'Sweet were his words when last we met; 'His mother from the window look'd, With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walk'd The green-wood path to meet her brother: They only heard the roar of Yarrow! 'The tear shall never leave my cheek, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.'The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. PLATO'S ADVICE.* Logan. SAYS Plato, why should man be vain, On those undeck'd with wealth or state? * An alteration of a song written by the Rev. Matthew Pil. kington, beginning Why, Lycidas, should man be vain. ་་ Can splendid robes or beds of down, Give health, or ease the brow of care? The scepter'd king, the burthen'd slave, Go search the tombs where monarchs rest, So glides the meteor through the sky, Let friendship reign while here we stay ; Anonymous. I ENVY NOT THE PROUD THEIR WEALTH. I ENVY not the proud their wealth, Their equipage and state; Give me but innocence and health, I in this sweet retirement find |