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I. LOVE : PERSONAL 21 |
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To Beauty what man but maun yield' him a prize, In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs? And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, ) ,. They dazzle our een, as they Hie to our hearts. \
But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e Has lustre outshining the diamond to me, And the heart-beating love as I'm clasp'd in her arms, ) ,. O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms 1 |
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"No. 22. Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. |
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Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care ; But ah! how bootless to admire
When fated to despair! Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,
To hope may be forgiven ; For sure 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of Heaven. |
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