roses of your cheeks, I dare Affirm, can't glow to more delight. Then, since I show as fine a face, Can you refuse a soft embrace? Ah! lovely nymph, thou'rt in thy prime! And so am I, while thou art here; But soon will come the fatal time, When all we see shall disappear.      'Tis mine to make a just reflection, And yours to follow my direction. Then catch admirers while you may; Treat not your lovers with disdain; For time with beauty flies away, And there is no return again. To you the sad account I bring, Life's autumn has no second spring.       [Footnote 1: A fountain.] 

  

  

       AN ECHO     

      Never sleeping, still awake, Pleasing most when most I speak; The delight of old and young, Though I speak without a tongue. Nought but one thing can confound me, Many voices joining round me; Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, Like the labourers of Babel. Now I am a dog, or cow, I can bark, or I can low; I can bleat, or I can sing, Like the warblers of the spring. Let the lovesick bard complain, And I mourn the cruel pain; Let the happy swain rejoice, And I join my helping voice:      Both are welcome, grief or joy, I with either sport and toy. Though a lady, I am stout, Drums and trumpets bring me out:      Then I clash, and roar, and rattle, Join in all the din of battle. Jove, with all his loudest thunder, When I'm vext, can't keep me under; Yet so tender is my ear, That the lowest voice I fear; Much I dread the courtier's fate, When his merit's out of date, For I hate a silent breath, And a whisper is my death. 

  

  

       ON A SHADOW IN A GLASS;     

      By something form'd, I nothing am, Yet everything that you can name; In no place have I ever been, Yet everywhere I may be seen; In all things false, yet always true, I'm still the same—but ever new. Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear, Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear, Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear. All shapes and features I can boast, No flesh, no bones, no blood—no ghost:      All colours, without paint, put on, And change like the cameleon. Swiftly I come, and enter there, Where not a chink lets in the air; Like thought, 

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