For the WEEKLY MUSEUM.
PAST is the hour, forever flown,
When Philis with me stray'd--
That purest bliss forever gone,
While mutual vows we made.
The time was eve, how clear the sky!
Harmonious every spray;
Nor one intruding mortal nigh,
To hear what love could lay.
Timid I did to her unfold
The secret of my breast;
But n'er so clumsily was told
The sense I'd have express'd.
Yet Philis heard me not displeas'd,--
She smil'd, and blush'd, and smiled;
Dawn'd now my day! my heart was eas'd,
Each minute bliss beguiled.
Eternal constancy I swore,
And Philis vow'd to me;
Now Philis, Stephen loves no more,
No more will Stephen see.
Another swain to Philis vows,
To him she curties low:
"Ah! Philis, he may break his vows,
"And prove as false as you.
"Tho' he than Stephen richer be;
"Tho' first he shine of beaux;
"Yet boast he not such constancy,
Nor loves as Stephen does."
Still she permits the butterfly
To wing around the fair,
And leaves her constant swain to die,
A' prey to fell dispair.
Thus Stephen sung beneath the shade,
Thus taught the grove to sigh,
While tell-tale winds, that round him play'd,
Convey'd the song to me.