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The HAPPY MINUTE.
  


211

The HAPPY MINUTE.

As Chloe sat shelter'd, and breath'd the cool air,
While music enliven'd the grove,
Young Damon approach'd and address'd the coy fair,
In all the soft language of love:
But she was so cruel, his suit she deny'd,
And laugh'd as he told her his pain;
And while the poor shepherd sat wooing, she cry'd,
I will die a virgin, fond swain.
Oh, what, says the youth, must thy beauty, so gay
Distract us at once and invite?
Embrace ev'ry rapture, left time make a prey
Of that which was meant for delight.
When age has crept round, and thy charms wrinkled o'er,
What lover for Chloe will sigh?
But still all her answer was, teaze me no more,
I'll never, no never, comply.

212

He swore, by young Cupid, no other he'd prize,
His flame was so strong, and sincere:
Soon softest intelligence shot from her eyes,
And conquer'd his doubt and his fear:
My joys shall be secret! enraptur'd he cry'd,
Ah, Chloe, be gentle and good!
The fair-one grew kinder, and sighing reply'd,
I'd fain die a maid,—if I cou'd.