A Song.

These shades were made for Love alone, -
Here only smiles and kisses sweet
Shall play around his flow'ry throne,
And doves shall sentinel the seat.
  
Come, Delia! 'tis a genial day;
It bids us to his bow'r repair: -
"But what will little Cupid say?" -
"Say! sweet? - why, give a welcome there."
  
There not a tell-tale beam shall peep
Upon thy beauty's rich display, -
There not a breeze shall dare to sweep
The leaves, to whisper what we say.