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A MAKARONY FABLE.
BY JOHN HALL STEPHENSON, ESQ.
In concert with the curfew bell,
* Born 1718; dyed 1785.
This lively unexpected motion
And scatter'd all the gloom of night.
Grazie a gť inganni tuoi,
Alfin respiro, O Nice;
Ebber gli dei pietà.
BY THE SAME.
HANKS to your wiles, deceitful fair, The gods, so long in vain implor'd, At last have heard a wretch's prayer ;
At last I find myself restor'd,
From thy bewitching snares and thee :
I feel for once this is no dream; I feel my captive soul is free ;
And I am truly what I seem.
I cannot now, as heretofore,
Put on indifference or disdain,
To hide a passion void of pain.
Without a blush your name I hear,
No transient glow my bosom heats ; And, when I meet your eye, my dear,
My fluttering heart no longer beats.
I dream, but I no longer find
Your form still present to my view ; I wake, but now my vacant mind
No longer waking dreams of you.
Absent, for you, no more I pine,
But wander careless day or night; Present, no word, no look, no sign,
Argues disturbance or delight.
I hear your praise, no tender flame
Now thrills responsive through my veins ;
I meet you now without alarms,
Nor longer fearful to displease, I talk with ease about your
charms, E'en with
rival talk with ease.
Whether in angry
mood Or sweetly fit with placid guile, Vain is the lightning of your eyes,
And vainer still your gilded smile.
Loves, in your smiles, no longer play;
Your lips, your tongue, have lost their art; Those
have now forgot the way That led directly to my heart. Vol. II.
Whether with grief the mind's diseased,
Or the unburthen'd spirits glad ;
You have no blame, when I am sad.
Hills, woods, and lawns, and bleating flocks, 45
Without you, captivate me still,
Hear me ; and judge if I'm sincere ;
That you are beauteous still I swear; But oh! no longer you appear
The faireft, and the only fair.
Hear me; but let not truth offend,
In that fine form, in many places, I now spy faults, my lovely friend,
Which I mistook before for graces.
And yet, tho' free, I thought at firft,
With shame my weakness I confess, My agonizing heart would burst,
The agonies of death are lefs.
Who would not, when his foul's oppress'd,
Gladly possess himself again?
Who would not bear the sharpeft pain ?