lygi. LITERARY INTELLIGENCER. 143 



Ah ! then, how I joyM while I gaz'd on her charms ! 



What tranfports flew fwift thro' my heart ! 

 I prefs'd the dear beautiful maid in my arms, 



Nor dream'd that we ever would part. 



But now from the dear, from the tendereft maid, 



By fortune unfeelingly torn ; 

 'Midfl flrangers, who wonder to fee me fo fad, 



In fecret I wander forlorn ; 

 And oft while drear Midnight affembles her fliades. 



And Silence pours fleep from her throne. 

 Pale, lonely, and penfive, I fteal through the glades, 



And figh 'midlt the darknefs my moan. 



In vain to the town I retreat for relief ; 



In vain to the groves I complain ; 

 Belles, Coxcombs and uproar, can ne'er foothe my grlcf^ 



And folitude nurfes my paia. 

 Still abfent from her whom my bofom loves beft, 



I languifli in mis'ry and care ; 

 Her prefence could baniih eacii woe from my bread. 



But her abfence, alas ! is defpair. 

 Paijlcy^ Jan. 9. 1791. A. W— n. 



A 



Cupid Stung — Anacreon. 



SlumbVing bee, by love unfeen, 



Had in a bed of rofes been ; 



The god was ftung, the wound was fore. 



And anguilli made the urchin roar — 



Away he flew with all his might, 



To feek his mother Venus bright ; 



" Mamma, your fon is kill'd, he cries ; 



" Kill'd is your fon — your Cupid dies : 



"• A little ferpent wounded me — 



" Yea, wings it has, and call'd — a Bee ! 



" If a Bee's fting fo fharp can prove, 



" How flia;p," fays fhe, " are wounds of Love^ !" 



A Svbfcriher.r 

 % U thii an original .' ^Ye think we have feca it before. 



