The Mermaid
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name．
Euphelia serves to grace my measure；
But Chloe is my real flame．
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia’s toilet lay；
When Chloe noted her desire,
That I should sing, that I should play．
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise；
But with my numbers mix my sighs：
And whilst I sing Euphelia’s praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe’s eyes．
Fair Chloe blushed: Euphelia frowned：
I sung and gazed: I played and trembled：
And Venus to the Loves around
Remarked, how ill we all dissembled．
How Thought You That This Thing Could Captivate?
How thought you that this thing could captivate?
What are those graces that could make her dear,
Who is not worth the notice of a sneer,
To rouse the vapid devil of her hate?
A speech conventional, so void of weight,
That after it has buzzed about one's ear,
'Twere rich refreshment for a week to hear
The dentist babble or the barber prate;
A hand displayed with many a little art;
An eye that glances on her neighbor's dress;
A foot too often shown for my regard;
An angel's form -- a waiting-woman's heart;
A perfect-featured face, expressionless,
Insipid, as the Queen upon a card.