1 Not the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

2 Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve,
To form one wish my soul can move.

3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain--
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.

* * * * *


VERSES

WRITTEN AT THE BEQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A
LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE.

What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create,