Those bar that nestle so sly

Such th: inds of arrows have got, That an o., on the glance of an eye Such aurs, may be off in a shot.

17A

hould 1 ar by the dew on your lip, Thougnach moment the treasure renews, If my constancy wishes to trip,

I may kis off the oath when I choose.
Or a sigh may disperse from that flow'r
Both the dew and the oath that are there
And I'd make a new vow every hour,
To lose them so sweetly in air.

But clear up the heav'n of your brow,
Nor fancy my faith is a feather;
On my heart I will pledge you my vow,

And y both must be broken together!

WHEN TIME, WHO STEALS OUR YEARS AWAY.

WHг Time, who steals our years away,
Sha steal our pleasures too,

The mem'ry of the past will stay,
And half our joys renew.

Ther., Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r

Shall feel the wintry air,

Remembrance will recall the hour
When thou alone wert fair.

Then talk no more of future gloom;
Our joy shall always last;

For Hope shall brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,
I drink to Love and thee:
Thou never canst decay in soul,

Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy lips the tear-drop chase,
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
That sorrow leaves behind.

Then fill the bowl!-away with gloom!
Our joys shall always last;

For Hope shall brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

But mark, at thought of future years
When love shall lose its soul,

My Chloe drops her timid tears,
They mingle with my bowl.

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,
Our loving life shall fleet;

Though tears may sometimes mingle there,
The draught will still be sweet.

Then fill the cup-away with gloom!
Our joys shall always last;

For Hope will brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE TIMID TEAR.

HAVE you n't seen the timid tear,

Steal tremling from mine eye?

Have you not mark'd the flush of fear,

Or caught the murmur'd sigh?

And can you think my love is chill,
Nor fix'd on you alone?

Ard can you rend, by doubting still,
A neart so much your own?

T. you my soul's affections move,
Devoutly, warmly true;
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith be o'er,
If still my truth you'll try;
Alas, I know but one proof more-
I'll bless your name, and die!

DID NOT.

"TWAS a new feeling-something more Than we had dar'd to own before,

Which then we hid not; We saw it in each other's eye, And wish'd, in every half-breath'd sigh, To speak, but did not.

She felt my lips' impassion'd touch'Twas the first time I dared so much, And yet she chid not;

But whisper'd o'er my burning brow, "Oh! do you doubt I love you now?” Sweet soul! I did not.

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I press'd it closer, closer still,
Though gently bid not;

Till-oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd,
And yet, who did not.

FRIEND OF MY SOUL.

FRIEND of my soul, this goblet sip,
"Twill chase that pensive tear;
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, oh! 'tis more sincere.
Like her delusive beam,

'Twill steal away thy mind:
But, truer than love's dream,

It leaves no sting behind.

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;
These flow'rs were cull'd at noon;-
Like woman's love the rose will fade,
But, ah! not half so soon.

For though the flower's decay'd,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betray'd,
Its sweet life blooms no more.

SAY, why should the girl of my soul be in tears
At a meeting of rapture like this,

When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years
Have been paid by one moment of bliss?

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight,
Which dwells on her memory yet?

Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night,
From the warmth of the sun that has set?

Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,
That smile, which is loveliest then;

And if such are the drops that delight can beguile,
Thou shalt weep them again and again.

FLY FROM THE WORLD.

FLY from the world, O Bessy! to me,
Thou wilt never find any sincerer ;
I'll give up the world, O Bessy! for thee,
I can never meet any that's dearer.
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,
That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny
That ours is the sweetest of any?

When your lip has met mine, in communion so sweet,
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?—

Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet?
No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it.

So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip,
Sc little of wrong is there in it,

That I wish all my errors were lodg'd on your lip,
And I'd kiss them away in a minute.

Then come to your lover, Oh! fly to his shed,
From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed
As e'er on the couch of the wisest.

And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,
And thou, pretty innocent, fearest,

I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heav'n,
'Tis only our lullaby, dearest.

And, oh! while we lay on our deathbed, my love,
Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,
And Death be disarm'd of his terrors.
And each to the other embracing will say,
"Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven."
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,
And a kiss be our passport to heaven!

FANNY, DEAREST

YES! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh;
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears when thou art nigh.
But, between love, and wine, and sleep,
So busy a life I live,

That even the time it would take : weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!
The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine,
Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, ty image lies;

But, ah the mirror would cease to shine,
If di'd too often with sighs

They lose the half of beauty's light,
Who view it through sorrow's tear;
And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest-the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain

THINK ON THAT LOOK.

THINK on that look whose melting ray For one sweet moment mix'd with mine And for that moment seem'd to say,

"I dare not, or I would be thine!"

Think on thy ev'ry smile and glance,

On all thou hast to charm and move, And then forgive my bosom's trance,

Nor tell me it is sin to love.

Oh, not to love thee were th sin; For sure, if Fate's decrees be done, Thou, thou art destin'd still to win, As I am destin'd to be won!

THE CATALOGUE.

"COME, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kist, One day she reclin'd on my breast; "Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list "Of the nymphs you have lov'd and carest "Oh Rosa! 'twas only my fancy that roved, My heart at the moment was free; But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved. And the number shall finish with thee

My tutor was Kitty; In infancy wild

She taught me the way to be blest;

She taught me to love her, I lov'd like a child,
But Kitty could fancy the rest.
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore
I have never forgot, I allow.

I have had it by rote very often before,
But never by heart until now.

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was al flame,
But my head was so full of romance
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame,

And I was her knight of the lance.
But Martha was not of this fanciful school,
And she laugh'd at her poor little knight;
While I thought her a goddess, she thought me a fool,
And I'll swear she was most in the right.

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks,
Again I was tempted to rove;

But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books
That she gave me more logic than love.
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly
To those sweeter logicians in bliss,
Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye,
And convince us at once with a kiss.

Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me,
But Susan was piously given;

And the worst of it was, we could never agree
On the road that was shortest to Heaven
"Oh, Susan!" I've said, in the moments of mrtn,
"What's devotion to thee or to me?

"I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, "And believe that that heaven's in thee

MARY, I BELIEV'D THEE TRUE

MARY, I believ'd thee true,

And I was blest in thus believing But now I mourn that e'er I knew A girl so fair and so deceiving. Fare thee well.

TAKE BACK THE SIGH. TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art In passion's moment breath'd to me; Yet no-it must not, will not part, Tis now the life-breath of my heart, And has become too pure for thee. Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh With all the warmth of truth imprest; Yet, no-the fatal kiss may lie, Upon thy lip its sweets would die,

Or bloom to make a rival blest.

Take back the vows that, night and day,
My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thine;
Yet, no-allow them still to stay,
They might some other heart betray,

As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine.

TO CLOE.-IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.

I COULD resign that eye of blue

Howe'er its splendour used to thrill me; And ev❜n that cheek of roseate hue,

To lose it, Cioe, scarce would kill me.

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss,
However much I've rav'd about it;
And sweetly as that lip can kiss,

I think I could exist without it.

In short, so well I've learnt to fast,

That, sooth my love, I know not whether I might not bring myself at last, To-do without you altogether.

THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN.
I BRING thee, love, a golden chain,
I bring thee too a flowery wreath;
The gold shall never wear a stain,

The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe.
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,
To bind thy gentle heart to me.

The chain is form'd of golden threads,
Bright as Minerva's yellow hair,
When the last beam of evening sheds
Its calm and sober lustre their
The Wreath's of brightest myrtle we,
With sun-lit drops of bliss among it,
And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love,
To heal his lip when bees have stung it.
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,
To bind thy gentle heart to me.

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye,

Which answers when the tongue is loath, Thou lik'st the form of either tie,

And spread'st thy playful hands for both. Ah!-if there were not something wrong, The world would see them blended off; The Chain would make the Wreath so strong! The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! Then might the gold, the flow'rets be Sweet fetters for my love and me.

But, Fanny, so unblest they twine,

That (Heaven alone can tell the reason)

When mingled thus they cease to shine,
Or shine but for a transient season.
Whether the Chain may press too much,

Or that the Wreath is slightly braided,
Let but the gold the flow'rets touch,

And all their bloom, their glow is faded!
Oh! better to be always free,
Than thus to bind my love to me.

THE timid girl now hung her head,
And, as she turn'd an upward glance,
I saw a doubt its twilight spread
Across her brows divine expanse.
Just then, the garland's brightest rose
Gave one of its love-breathing sighs
Oh! who can ask how Fanny chose,
That ever look'd in Fanny s eyes?
"The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shail be
"The tie to bind my soul to thee."

THE SALE OF LOVES.

I DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves,
My nets by moonlight laying,

I caught a flight of wanton Loves,
Among the rose-beds playing.
Some just had left their silv'ry shell,
While some were full in feather;
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell,
Were never yet strung together.
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses !—
They're new and bright,

The cost is light,

For the coin of this isle is kisses.

First Cloris came, with looks sedate,
Their coin on her lips was ready;

"I buy." quoth she, "my Love by weight,
"Full grown, if you please, and steady."
"Let mine be light," said Fanny, "pray-
"Such lasting toys undo one;

"A light little Love that will last to-day,-
"To-morrow I'll sport a new one."
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses!—
There's some will keep,
Some light and cheap,

At from ten to twenty kisses.

The learned Prue took a pert young thing,
To divert her virgin Muse with,
And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing,
To indite her billet-doux with.
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair
Her only eye, if you'd ask it;
And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair,
For the youngest Love in the basket.
Come buy my Loves, &c. &c.

But one was leit, when Susan came,
One worth them all together;
At sight of her dear looks of shame,
He smil'd, and prun'd his feather.
She wish'd the boy-'twas more than whim-
Her looks, her sighs betray'd it;
But kisses were not enough for him,
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it!
Good-by, my Loves,
Good-by, my Loves,

"Twould make you smile to've seen us
First trade for this

Sweet child of bliss,

And then nurse the boy between us.

TO A BOY WITH A WATCH

Is it not sweet, beloved youth,
To rove through Erudition's bowers,
And cull the golden fruits of truth,
And gather Fancy's brilliant flowere

And is it not more sweet than this,
To feel thy parents' hearts approving,
And pay them back in sums of bliss
The dear, the endless debt of loving?

It must be so to thee, my youth;
With this idea toil is lighter;
This sweetens all the fruits of truth,
And makes the flower of fancy brighter.

The little gift we send thee, boy,

May sometimes teach thy scul to ponder, If indolence or siren joy

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. "Twill tell thee that the winged day

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour That life and time shall fade away,

While heav'n and virtue bloom forever!

To

REMEMBER him thou leav'st behind, Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, Close as the tend'rest links can bind

A heart as warm as heart can be.

Oh! I had long in freedom rov'd,

Though many seem'd my soul to share; 'Twas passion when I thought I lov'd, 'Twas fancy when I thought them fair.

Ev'n she, my muse's early theme,

Beguil'd me only while she warm'd; 'Twas young desire that fed the dream, And reason broke what passion form'd.

But thou-ah! better had it been
If I had still in freedom rov'd,
If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,
For then I never should have lov'd.

Then all the pain which lovers feel
Had never to this heart been known;
But then, the joys that lovers steal,
Should they have ever been my own?
Oh! trust me when I swear thee this,
Dearest! the pain of li thee,
The very pain is sweeter bliss
Than passion's wildest ecstasy.
That little cage I would not part,
In which my soul is prison'd now,
For the most light and winged heart

That wantons on the passing vow.
Still, my belov'd! still keep in mind,
However far remov'd from me,
That there is one thou leav'st behind,
Whose heart respires for only thee'
And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care,
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! That heart is only mine
By ties all other ties above,
For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love.

"Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse ! Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave;— "It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, "Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave !” And who was the bright star of chivalry then? Who could be but Reuben, the flow'r of the age? For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had beat,For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet, It walks o'er the flow'rs of the mountain and lawn.

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever.

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave,
That darkness should cover that castle for ever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!
To the wizard she flew, saying, "Tell me, oh, tell!
Shall my Reuben no more be rator'd to my eyes?"
"Yes, yes-when a spirit shall toll the great bell

Of the mould'ring abbey, your Reuben shall rise!" Twice, thrice he repeated "Your Reuben shall rise!" And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; And wip'd, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes, And hop'd she might yet see her hero again.

That hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose,
To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath,
In the depth of the billows soon found his repose
How strangely the order of destiny falls!—
Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the rav
All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank
Two days did she wander, and all the long night,
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,
And heard but the breathings of night in the air;.
Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And saw but the foam of the white billow there

And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam.
And now the third night was begemming the sky;
Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent reclin'd,
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,
When-hark!-'twas the bell that came deep in the
wind!

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decay'd,
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide

Was this what the Seer of the Cave had foretold?-
Dim, dim, through the phantom the moon shot a gleam
'Twas Reuben, but, ah! he was deathly and cold,

And fleeted away like the spell of a dream! Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought From the bank to embrace him, but vain her endea pur Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caught, And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever'

ANACREONTIC

PRESS the grape, and let it pour Around the board its purple show'r, And, while the drops my goblet steep, I'll think in woe the clusters weep.

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine!
Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe.

SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARACTER

Is not thy mind a gentle mind?
Is not that heart a heart refin'd?
Hast thou not every gentle grace,
We love in woman's mind and face?
And, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin
To hold her hateful worship in?

No, no, be happy-dry that tear-
Though some thy heart hath harbour'd near,
May now repay its love with blame;
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame,
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee;
Though all the world look cold upon thee,
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still
Unharm'd by that surrounding chill;
Like the fam'd drop, in crystal found,
Floating, while ail was froz'n round,-.
Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be,
Safe in thy own sweet purity.

Το

WHEN I lov'd you, I can't but allow I had many an exquisite minute; Bat the scorn that I feel for you now Hath even more luxury in it.

Thus, whether we're on or we're off, Some witchery seems to await you; To love you was pleasant enough,

And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you'

TO JULIA.

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS

say,

WHY, let the stingless critic chide With all that fume of vacant pride Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, Like vapour on a stagnant pool. Oh! if the song, to feeling true, Can please th' elect, the sacred few, Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught, Thrill with the genuine pulse of thoughtIf some fond feeling maid like thee, The warm-ey'd child of Sympathy, Shall while o'er my simple theme She languishes in Passion's dream, "He was, indeed, a tender soul"No critic law, no chill control, "Should ever freeze, by timid art, "The flowings of so fond a heart!" Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love: That, hev'ring like a snow-wing'd dove, Breath'd o'er my cradle warblings wild, And hail'd me Passion's warmest child,Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye, From Feeling's breast the votive sigh; Oh! let my song, my mem'ry, find A shrine within the tender mind; And I will smile when critic's chide, And I will scort, the fume of pride Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, Like vapour round som stagnant pool!

TO JULIA.

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream, A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:

One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem, Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit!

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare;

Your heart was only mine, I once believ'd. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air? And must I say, my hopes were all deceiv'd?

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twin'd, That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal; Julia!-'tis vity, pity makes you kind;

You know

we, and you would seem to feel.

But shall I stil seek within those arms
A joy in which affection takes no part?
No, no, farewell! you give me but your charms,
When I had fondly thought you gave your hear

THE SHRINE

My fates had destin'd me to rove
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay;
For, if the saint was young and fair,
I turn'd and sung my vespers there.
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require :
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But, trust me, all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, ev'ry humbler altar past,

I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

TO A LADY,

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON LEAVING THE

COUNTRY.

WHEN, casting many a look behind,

I leave the friends I cherish herePerchance some other friends to find, But surely finding none so dear

Haply the little simple page,

Which votive thus I've trac'd for thee, May now and then a look engage, And steal one moment's thought for me.

But, oh! in pity let not those

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould,
Let not the eye that seldom flows
With feeling's tear, my song behold.

For, trust me, they who never melt

With pity, never melt with love;
And such will frown at all I've felt,
And all my loving lays reprove.

But if, perhaps, some gentler mind,
Which rather loves to praise than blame,
Should in my page an interest find,
And linger kindly on my name;

Tell him-or, oh! if, gentler still,
By female lips my name be blest
For where do all affections thrill

So sweetly as in woman's breast i

Tell her, that he whose loving themes
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er,
Could sometimes wake from idle dreams,
And bolder flights of fancy soar;

That Glory oft would claim the lay,

And Friendship oft his numbers move; But whisper then, that, "sooth to say, "His sweetest song was given to Love!"