SONG. (Sweet are the banks, when Spring perfumes)

Sweet are the banks, when Spring perfumes The verdant plants, and laughing flowers, Fragrant the violet, as it blooms, And sweet the blossoms after showers. Sweet is the soft, the sunny breeze, That fans the golden orange-grove; But oh! how sweeter far than these The kisses are of her I love.

Ye roses! blushing in your beds, That with your odours scent the air; Ye lillies chaste! with silver heads As my Cleora's bosom fair: No more I court your balmy sweets; For I, and I alone, can prove, How sweeter, when each other meets, The kisses are of her I love.

Her tempting eyes my gaze inclin'd, Their pleasing lesson first I caught; Her sense, her friendship next confin'd The willing pupil she had taught. Should fortune, stooping from her sky, Conduct me to her bright alcove; Yet, like the turtle, I should die, Denied the kiss of her love.