Bristol! in vain thy rocks attempt the sky, The wild woods waving on their giddy brow; And vainly, devious Avon! vainly sigh Thy waters, winding thro' the vales below; - ...
When men exert their utmost pow'rs, To while away the tedious hours, With soothing Flatt'ry's art, When ev'ry art and work well skill'd, And ev'ry look with poison fill'd, Assail a woman's heart, ...
How like is childhood to the lucid tide That calmly wanders thro' the mossy dell, Sweeps o'er the lily by the margin's side, And, as it kisses, murmurs out, Farewell!
By Beauty's caresses, like Cupid, half-spoil'd, Thus Music's and Poesy's favourite child Exclaim'd, - "'Tis, by Heaven! a terrible thing Before a he-party to sit and to sing!"...
The sign of the house should be chang'd, I'll be sworn, Where enchanted we find so much beauty and grace; Then quick from the door let the lion be torn, And an angel expand her white wings in his place.
Streams ever limpid, fresh, and clear, Where Delia's charms renew'd appear, Ye flow'rs that touch'd her snowy breast, Ye trees whereon she lov'd to rest, Ye scenes adorn'd where'er she flies,...
Adieu! dear girl! if we are doom'd to part, Take with thee, take, the blessing of this heart, Due to thy gentle mind, and cultur'd sense; Perhaps 'twill please, but, sure, can't give offence....
Go, little flutt'rer! seek thy feather'd loves, And leave a wretched mourner to his woe; Seek out the bow'rs of bliss, seek happier groves, Nor here unheeded let thy music flow. ...
When lovely Delphine sought the crowded scene, The painter's mimic pow'r no longer mov'd; All turn'd to gaze upon her beauteous mien, None envied her, for, as they look'd, they lov'd. ...
In days that long have glided by, Beneath keen Scotia's weeping sky, On many a hill of purple heath, In many a gloomy glen beneath, The wand'ring Lyrist once was known...
Go, faithless bloom! on Delia's cheek Your boasted captivations try; Alas! o'er Nature would you seek To gain one moment's victory? Her softer tint, sweet look, and gentle air,...
Tho' unknown is the hand that bestow'd thee on me, Sweet leaf! ev'ry fibre I'll warm with a kiss: With the fame of her beauty thou well dost agree, Whose presence shews conquest, whose triumph is bliss!
Thou rear'st thy beauteous head, sweet flow'r Gemm'd by the soft and vernal show'r; Its drops still round thee shine: The florist views thee with delight; And, if so precious in his sight,...
These bays be thine; and, tho' not form'd to shine Clear as thy colour, faultless as thy line, Yet shall the Muse essay, in humble verse, Thy merits, lovely Painting! to rehearse....