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With fierce desire the hunted hart

Explores the cooling stream:
Mine is a passion stronger far,

And mine a nobler theme.
Yes, with superior fervours, Lord;

I thirst to see thy face;
My languid soul would fain approach

The fountains of thy grace.
Oh! the great plenty of thy house,

The rich refreshments there!
To live an exile from thy courts

O'erwhelms me with despair.
In worship when I join'd thy saints,

How sweetly pass'd my days!
Prayer my divine employment then,

And all my pleasure praise. But now I'm lost to every joy,

Because detain'd from Thee; Those golden periods ne'er return,

Or ne'er return to me. Yet, O my soul! why thus depress'd,

And whence this anxious fear? Let former favours fix thy trust,

And check the rising tear.
When darkness and when sorrows rose,

And press’d on every side;
Did not the Lord sustain thy steps,

And was not God thy guide ?

AMiction is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave; Though o'er my head the billows roll,

I know the Lord can save.
Perhaps, before the morning dawns,

He'll reinstate my peace;
For He, who bade the tempest roar,

Can bid the tempest cease.
In the dark watches of the night

I'll count his mercies o'er;
I'll praise him for ten thousand past,

And humbly sue for more. Then, O my soul! why thus depress'd,

And whence this anxious fear? Let former favours fix thy trust,

And check the rising tear.
Here will I rest, and build my hopes,

Nor murmur at his rod;
He's more than all the world to me,

My health, my life, my God!



CHLOE, I boast celestial date,

Ere time began to roll; So wide my power, my sceptre spurns

The limits of the pole.

When from the mystic womb of night

The' Almighty call’d the earth; I smiled upon

the infant world, And graced the wondrous birth. Through the vast realms of boundless space,

I traverse uncontrol'd;
And starry orbs of proudest blaze

my name in gold. There's not a monarch in the north

But bends the suppliant knee;
The haughty sultan waves his power,

And owns superior me.
Both by the savage and the saint

My empire stands confess'd;
I thaw the ice on Greenland's coast,

And fire the Scythian's breast.
To me the


aerial tribes Their glittering plumage bwe With all the variegated pride

That decks the feather'd beau.
The meanest reptiles of the land

My bounty too partake;
I paint the insect's trembling wing,

And gild the crested snake.
Survey the nations of the deep,
You'll there my power

behold; My pencil drew the pearly scale,

And fin bedropp'd with gold. I give the virgin's lip to glow,

I claim the crimson dye; Mine is the rose which spreads the cheek,

And mine the brilliant eye.

Then speak, my fair; for surely thou

My name canst best descry;
Who gave to thee with lavish hands

What thousands I deny.


THAT awful name, which oft inspires
Impatient hopes and fond desires,
Can to another pain impart,
And thrill with fear the shuddering heart.
This mystic word is often read
O'er the still chambers of the dead.
Say what contains the breathless clay,
When the fleet soul is wing'd away?
Those marble monuments proclaim
My little wily wanton's name.


The golden stem, with generous aid,
Supports and feeds the fruitful blade.
The queen

who ruled a thankless isle,
And gladden'd thousands with her smile
(When the well managed pound of gold
Did more than now the sum thrice told);
This stem of Ceres, and the fair
Of Stuart's house, a name declare,
Where goodness is with beauty join'd,
Where queen and goddess both combined
To form an emblem of the mind.


The light-footed female that bounds o'er the hills,
That feeds among lilies, and drinks of the rills,

And is famed for being tender and true;
Which Solomon deemed a simile rare,
To liken the two pretty breasts of his fair,
Is the name of the nymph I pursue.


• TELL me the fair, if such a fair there be (Said Venus to her son), that rivals me.' • Mark the tall tree (cried Cupid to the Dame), That from its silver bark derives its name: The studious insect, that with wondrous powers Extracts mysterious sweets from fragrant flowers; Proclaim the nymph to whom all hearts submit, Whose sweetness softens majesty and wit.'


The name of the monarch that abandon'd his

throne, Is the name of the fair I prefer to his crown.


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