Adown his anxious features steal,
Nor then one burst of pity feel? 
But, as bereav’d of ev’ry sense,
Look on with cold indifference. 
Go, then, Annette, in all thy charms,
Go bless some gayer, happier, arms;
Go, rest secure, thy fear give o’er,
These eyes shall follow thee no more;
And never shall these lips impart
One thought of all that rends my heart.

Yet, since will burst the frequent sigh,
  And since the tear will ever fall,
From thee and from the world I’ll fly;
  Deserts shall hide, shall silence, all.

LINES

SENT WITH SOME INDIAN ROUGE TO MISS W——.

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,
Shall prove you’re but a vain intruder there.

But go, display your charms and taste;
  Soon shall you blush a richer red,
To find your mimic pow’r surpass’d;
  And, whilst upon her cheek you spread
Your vermeil hue, tell her ingenuous heart,
’Tis the first time she ever practis’d art.

MISS W——­ RETURNED THE ROUGE

With the following elegant Lines.

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,

Tho’ ardently she’d wish to be
Proof ’gainst the charms of Flattery,
  The task is hard, I ween;
Self-love will whisper “’Tis quite true,
Who can there be more fair than you? 
  Who more admir’d, when seen?”

Then take this tempting gift of thine,
Nor e’er again wish me to shine
  In any borrow’d bloom: 
Nor rouge, nor compliments, can charm;
Full well I know they both will harm;
  Truth is my only plume.

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY,

OCCASIONED BY HER DECLINING AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE

Made her by a very accomplished Friend of the Author.

Oh! form’d to prompt the smile or tear,
At once so sweet, yet so severe! 
As much for you as him I grieve;
Ah! thoughtless! if you thus can leave
A mind with wit and learning bright,
Where Temper sheds its cloudless light;
Where manly honour, taste refin’d,
With ev’ry virtue, are combin’d;
If you can quit a heart so true,
Which has so often throbb’d for you,
I’ll pity, tho’ I can’t reprove;
And did I, such is Florio’s love,
Eager he’d fly to take thy part,
E’en in a war against his heart.

THE MUSHROOM.