To lilies, all thy pride resigning,
Thou'lt yield without dispute thy fame.






TO CUPID.


Cupid, one arrow kindly spare,
'Twill yield me transport beyond measure,
I'll not be mean, by heaven I swear,
With Mary I'll divide the treasure.

Thou wilt not?--Tyrant, now I see
Thou lovest with grief my soul to harrow;
To her thou'st given thy quiver--for me
Thou hast not left a single arrow!






EVENING MEDITATIONS.


Nature in silence sank, and deep repose,