Forget the fond echoes you heard! Forget my fond hope and my strain! My strain is neglected and dead is my hope:— But you never shall hear me complain—— To thy cliffs, rocky SEATON, adieu! SONG. Gentle Stream, whose wild meanders Cheer the birds and feed the flowers, While by thee Amelia wanders, Wilt thou soothe her pensive hours? If the world were at my bidding, Music should her steps attend, And where’er her feet were treading, Flowers should bloom, and sweets ascend. SONG. TO A LADY GOING TO HER FAMILY IN IRELAND. Will you go, Mary, from me? Is it choice, or love or duty, That you trust your worth and beauty Upon the stormy Sea? Can you hope, Mary, to find, Tho’ you rove the wide world over, Friends so true, so fond a Lover, As you leave here behind? TO THE SUN. O Thou whose inextinguishable eye Now sleeps beneath the ocean stream, Whether the star of morn shall call thee forth To pour thy rich and fiery beam Through the wide arch of an unclouded sky; Or whether the rude North Shall o’er thy head his showery mantle cast, Making the dank earth shiver at his blast; Welcome alike to me! the genial day That gave my fair Eliza birth Needs not thy gaudy smile to make it glad: Still cheer the spleeny race of earth With the warm lustre of thy fostering ray; On me in vain are shed Thy beams and unregarded, while I prove The dearer influence of Her smiles and love. SONG. Artless words of unfeign’d passion With harmonious numbers join’d, Soothly try your soft persuasion On Eliza’s gentle mind! For her ear alone intended, Other censure nought regard: If by her you are commended, ’Tis enough for your reward. But why thus you seek to move her Strive not further to explain!— If her heart will not discover, You or I should tell in vain. TO A LADY, FORTUNE-TELLING WITH CARDS. Dear Nancy, if you wish to know What Fate reserves in store for you, Ask not the idle cards to show,— I’ll tell as wisely, and as true. For I will take a magic Book Of characters divinely fair; Upon thy lovely Self I’ll look, And read, dear Girl, thy fortune there. By those love-darting Eyes I find How many hearts their empire own; I see the sweetness of thy mind That keeps the hearts those eyes have won. Yet none among so many hearts, Nor any you shall yet subdue, Should you join all their better parts, Can make a heart to merit you. Now, shall I look into your breast And see what Heart is favour’d there?— No,—be that fatal Truth suppress’d, Lest I should sink in my despair! EPIGRAM.