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Fly, perjured girl !—but whither fly?
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye?
Who now will drink the siren tone
Which tells him thou art all his own?
Who now will court thy wild delights,
Thy honey kiss, and turtle bites?
Oh! none. --And he who loved before
Can never, never love thee more !

THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part,

Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,

And cling to it as close as ever. But must we, must we part indeed ?

Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia's bosom bleed

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ? Does she too mourn ?—Perhaps she may;

Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting: But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating? I oft have loved the brilliant glow

Of rapture in her blue eye streamingBut can the bosom bleed with woe,

While joy is in the glances beaming? No, no !-Yet, love, I will not chide,

Although your heart were fond of roving : Nor that, nor all the world beside,

Could keep your faithful boy from loving. You'll soon be distant from his eye,

And, with you, all that's worth possessing. Oh! then it will be sweet to die,

When life has lost its only blessing!


A FRAGMENT. IN vain we fondly strive to trace The soul's reflection in the face; In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; Boobies have looked as wise and bright As Plato or the Stagirite: And many a sage and learned skull Has peeped through windows dark and dull!

Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor inward woman, from without,
(Though, ma'am, you smile, as if in doubt,)
I think 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pretty short descriptions write,
In tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles.
There we might read of all—But stay-
As learned dialectics say,
The argument most apt and ample,
For common use, is the example.
For instance, then, if Nature's care
Had not arranged those traits so fair,
Which speak the soul of Lucy Lindon,
Thu is the label she'd have pinned on.

LABEL FIRST, Within this vase there lies enshrined The purest, brightest gem of mind ! Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw Upon its charms the shade of woe, The lustre of the gem, when veiled, Shall be but mellowed, not concealed.

Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able,
That Nature wrote a second label;
They're her own words—at least suppose so-
And boldly pin it on Pomposo.

When I composed the fustian brain
Of this redoubted Captain Vain,
I had at hand but few ingredients,
And so was forced to use expedients.
I put therein some small discerning,
A grain of sense, a grain of learning ;
And when I saw the void behind,
I filled it up with—froth and wind!

SWEET lady! look not thus again :

Those little pouting smiles recall
A maid remembered now with pain,

Who was my love, my life, my all!

Oh! while this heart delirious took

Sweet poison from her thrilling eye,
Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look,

And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh !
Yes, I did love her—madly love-

She was the sweetest, best deceiver !
And oft she swore she'd never rove!

And I was destined to believe her!
Then, lady, do not wear the smile

Of her whose smile could thus betray.
Alas! I think the lovely wile

Again might steal my heart away.
And when the spell that stole my mind
· On lips so pure as thine I see,
I fear the heart which she resigned

Will err again, and fly to thee!

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream,

A dream, I find, illusory as sweet :
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,

Is dearer far than passion's bland deceit !
I've heard you oft eternal truth declare ;

Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air !

And must I say, my hopes were all deceived ? Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined,

That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal : Julia ! 'tis pity, pity makes you kind;

You know I love, and you would seem to feel. But shall I still go revel in those arms

On bliss in which affection takes no part? No, no! farewell! you give me but your charms,

When I had fondly thought you gave your heart !

Does the harp of Rosa slumber?
Once it breathed the sweetest number!
Never does a wilder song
Steal the breezy lyre along,
When the wind, in odours dying,
Wooes it with enamoured sighing.
Does the harp of Rosa cease?
Once it told a tale of peace

To her lover's throbbing breast-
Then he was divinely blest !
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er;
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp-forgotten lover-
Rosa's love and song are over!


TO JULIA. - sine me sit nulla Venus.-Sulpicia. Our hearts, my love, were doomed to be The genuine twins of Sympathy:

They live with one sensation : In joy or grief, but most in love, Our heart-strings musically move,

And thrill with like vibration.
How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play

When mine no more is moving !
Since, now, to feel a joy alone
Were worse to thee than feeling none :

Such sympathy in loving !
And, oh ! how often in those eyes,
Which melting beamed, like azure skies

In dewy vernal weather-
How often have I raptured read
The burning glance, that silent said,

“Now, love, we feel together!

I saw the peasant's hand unkind

From yonder oak the ivy sever;
They seemed in very being twined ;

Yet now the oak is fresh as ever. Not so the widowed ivy shines :

Torn from its dear and only stay, In drooping widowhood it pines,

And scatters all its blooms away! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine,

Till Fate disturbed their tender ties: Thus gay indifference blooms in thine,

While mine, deserted, droops and dies.

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. Sweet spirit ! if thy airy sleep

Nor sees my tears, nor hears my sighs, Oh! I will weep, in luxury weep,

Till the last heart's-drop fills mine eyes.
But if thy sainted soul can feel,

And mingles in our misery;
Then, then, my breaking heart I'll seal-

Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me!
The beam of morn was on the stream,

But sullen clouds the day deform:
Thou wert, indeed, that morning beam,

And death, alas! that sullen storm.
Thou wert not formed for living here,

For thou wert kindred with the sky;
Yet, yet we held thee all so dear

We thought thou wert not formed to die !


Here is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet has been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To write my name for ever there!

LIKE who trusts to summer skies,

And puts his little bark to sea,
Is he who, lured by smiling eyes,

Consigns his simple heart to thee.
For fickle is the summer wind,

And sadly may the bark be tost ;
For thou art sure to change thy mind,

And then the wretched heart is lost !

OH! 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 a moment of bliss?

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