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The Cumberland Pacquet - 25 Feb 1812
SONG.

Shame on thy stol'n inglorious Song
That others' Loves did wont convey;
Shame on thy recreant Heart belong,
Though so true to its Fires was tun'd the Lay.

More sweet, 'twere dear, thine own strain to hear;
And thy Muse thy own Soul in thy Song reveal;
O! let not expire, the Poet's Fire,
Thus 'whelm'd in the Patriot's toiling Zeal.

Well I can pardon the sparkling Wine,
That cheers an Hour of thy devious Way;
And the Bowl I'll regard, if its Power divine,
Can a Throb of thy anxious Heart allay.

So grateful I'll be, for its Favours to thee,
That the ruby Tide which thy Lips did lave,
To me shall be dear, for its sparkling Cheer,
And tipp'd in Salute of its balmy Wave.

O! jealous my Soul shall never feel,
Of th' inspiring Stream that for thee shall flow;
While the gen'rous Charm can a Sorrow steal,
Which thy Heart or thy Fancy e'er shall know.

Well remembered the Lay, that sweetly did say,
Of thy Bowl and thy Love -- one conspiring Sea;
"This Heart's joyous Bound, shall enebriate be found
"Less, Love, with the slander'd Wine than Thee."

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There's no author's name under this poem, and not surprisingly. It's simply
atrocious!!! I don't even quite understand what it's about, apart from some
declaration of love.

Petra
 
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