Presided o'er each star that roll’d, And track'd it through its path sublime; So thou, fair planet, not unled, Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; Thy lover's shade, divinely wed, Shall linger round thy wandering way. Let other spirits range the sky, And brighten in the solar gem; I'll bask beneath that lucid eye, Nor envy worlds of suns to them! To mingle with a mortal frame, Hide, hide from Heaven the unholy flame. No!—when that heart shall cease to beat, And when that breath at length is free; Then, Rosa, soul to soul we 'll meet, And mingle to eternity. LOVE AND MARRIAGE. Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum. Sccundus, eleg. vii. ANACREONTIQUE. in lacrymas verterat omne merum. Tib. lib. i. eleg. 5. Still the question I must parry, Still a wayward truant prove: Where I love, I must not marry, Where I marry, cannot love. Were she fairest of creation, With the least presuming mind; Learned without affectation; Not deceitful, yet refined; Wise enough, but never rigid; Gay, but not too lightly free; Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid; Warm, yet satisfied with me : Were she all this, ten times over, All that Heaven to earth allows, I should be too much her lover Ever to become her spouse. Love will never bear enslaving; Summer garments suit him best : Bliss itself is not worth having, If we're by compulsion blest. Press the grape, and let it pour THE KISS. Illa nisi in lecto nusquam potuere doceri. Ovid. lib. ii. eleg. 5. ANACREONTIQUE. FRIEND of my soul! this goblet sip, 'T will chase that pensive tear; 'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, But, oh! 't is more sincere. Like her delusive beam, 'T will steal away thy mind; But, like affection's dream, It leaves no sting behind! These flowers were cull'd at noon ;- Its fragrance is not o'er; The heart can bloom no more! Give me, my love, that billing kiss I taught you one delicious night, When, turning epicures in bliss, We tried inventions of delight. Come, gently steal my lips along, And let your lips in murmurs move,Ah, no !-again—that kiss was wrong, How can you be so dull, my love ? “Cease, cease !" the blushing girl replied And in her milky arms she caught me“How can you thus your pupil chide; You know 't was in the dark you taught me!" u Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more!" St. John, chap. viii. Oh, woman, if by simple wile Thy soul has stray'd from honour's track, 'Tis mercy only can beguile, By gentle ways, the wanderer back. TO MISS SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. And in thy breath his pinion dips, And faints upon thy sighing lips : TO ROSA. A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti.--Past. Fid. I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep That used to shade thy looks of light; And why those eyes their vigil keep, When other suns are sunk in night. And I will say—her angel breast Has never throbb’d with guilty sting ; Her bosom is the sweetest nest Where Slumber could repose his wing ! And I will say–her cheeks of flame, Which glow like roses in the sun, Have never felt a blush of shame, Except for what her eyes have done! Then tell me, why, thou child of air ! Does Slumber from her eyelids rove? What is her heart's impassioned care ?— Perhaps, oh, sylph! perhaps ’t is love! And are you then a thing of art, Seducing all and loving none ? Which every coxcomb thinks his own? Which powerless of enjoying any, By trifling impotent with many ? And through a round of danglers run, Could never wake to feel for one. And I shall calm my jealous breast; And share your simpers with the rest. Oh! if another share that heart, But mingle mercy with your art Than find you to be all divine, Yet know that heart would not be mine! NONSENSE. Good reader! if you e'er have seen, When Phæbus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids, with their tresses green, Dancing upon the western billow: If you have seen, at twilight dim, When the lone spirit's vesper hymn Floats wild along the winding shore : If you have seen, through mist of eve, The fairy train their ringlets weave, Glancing along the spangled green : If you have seen all this, and more, God bless me! what a deal you've seen! LOVE IN A STORM head; Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem, Et dominam tenero continuisse sinu. Tibullus. LOUD sung the wind in the ruins above, Which murmur'd the warnings of time o'er our While fearless we offer'd devotions to Love, Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, The rude rock our pillow, the rushes our bed. Yet the flowers were all gather'd in heaven! Damp was the chill of the wintry air, And long may this garland be sweet to the eye, But it made us cling closer, and warmly unite; May its verdure for ever be new! Dread was the lightning, and horrid its glare, Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh, But it show'd me my Julia in languid delight. And Pity shall nurse it with dew! To my bosom she nestled, and felt not a fear, frown: Her sighs were as sweet, and her murmurs as dear, How sweetly could I lay my head As if she lay lull'd on a pillow of down! SONG. Jessy on a bank was sleeping, A flower beneath her bosom lay; Love, upon her slumber creeping, Stole the flower and flew away! Pity, then, poor Jessy's ruin, 1 This poem, and some others of the same pensive cast, Who, becalm’d by Slumber's wing, we may suppose, were the result of the few melancholy moments which a life so short and so pleasant as that of the Never felt what Love was doingauthor could have allowed.-E. Never dream'd of such a thing. And if along thy lip and cheek That smile of heavenly softness play, Which,-ah! forgive a mind that 's weak, So oft has stolen my mind away; Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky, That comes to charm me into bliss : I'll gaze and die—who would not die, If death were half so sweet as this? THE BALLAD." Thou hast sent me a flowery band, And told me 't was fresh from the field; That the leaves were untouch'd by the hand, And the purest of odours would yield. And indeed it was fragrant and fair ; But, if it were handled by thee, It would bloom with a livelier air, And would surely be sweeter to me! Then take it, and let it entwine Thy tresses, so flowing and bright; And each little flow'ret will shine More rich than a gem to my sight. A DREAM. On Cupid's burning shrine: And placed it near to mine. Like ice before the sun; And mingled into one! 1 This ballad was probably suggested by the following Epigram in Martial: Intactas quare mittis mihi, Polla, coronas, Epig. xc. lib. 11.-E. WRITTEN IN A COMMON-PLACE BOOK, CALLED “THE BOOK OF FOLLIES;" In which every one that opened it should contribute something. But kiss me, kiss me while I die, And, oh! I live again! And, oh! revive with kisses still! THE TEAR. And chilly was the midnight gloom, Sweet maid ! it was her Lindor's tomb! A warm tear gush'd—the wintry air Congeal'd it as it flow'd away: At morn it glitter'd in the ray! Who saw this bright, this frozen gem, To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear, And hung it on her diadem! TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. This tribute 's from a wretched elf, Who hails thee emblem of himself! The book of life, which I have traced, Has been, like thee, a motley waste Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, One folly bringing hundreds more. Some have indeed been writ so neat, In characters so fair, so sweet, That those who judge not too severely Have said they loved such follies dearly! * Yet still, O book! the allusion stands; For these were penn'd by female hands; The rest,—alas ! I own the truth,Have all been scribbled so uncouth, That prudence, with a withering look, Disdainful flings away the book. Like thine, its pages here and there Have oft been stain'd with blots of care ; And sometimes hours of peace, I own, Upon some fairer leaves have shone, White as the snowings of that Heaven By which those hours of peace were given But now no longer-such, oh! such The blast of Disappointment's touch! No longer now those hours appear; Each leaf is sullied by a tear : Blank, blank is every page with care ; Not e'en a folly brightens there. Will they yet brighten ?-Never, never ! Then shut the book, O God! for ever! TO In bona cur quisquam tertius ista venit ?- Ovid. So! Rosa turns her back on me, SONG. DEAR ! in pity do not speak; In your eyes I read it all, In the flushing of your cheek, In those tears that fall. Yes, yes, my soul! I see You love, you live for only me! Beam, yet beam that killing eve, Bid me expire in luscious pain; SONG. HAVE you not seen the timid tear Steal trembling from mine eye Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, Such was my love, and many a time, When sleep has given thee to my breast, And thou hast seem'd to share the crime Which made ihy lover wildly blest; E'en then, in all that rich delusion, When, by voluptuous visions fired, My soul, in rapture's warm confusion, Has on a phantom's lip expired! E'en then some purer thoughts woul : Amid my senses' warm excess; And at the moment-oh! e'en then I've started from thy melting press, And blush'd for all I've dared to feel, Yet sigh'd to feel it all again! Such was my love, and still, O still My heart might be a taintless shrine, And thou its votive saint should be : There, there I'd make thee all divine, And did you not mark the paly form Myself divine in honouring thee. Which rode on the silver mist of the heath, But, oh! that night! that fatal night! And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? When both bewilder’d, both betray’d, We sank beneath the flow of soul, Which for a moment mock'd control; And almost yielded to delight! God! how I wish'd, in that wild hour, "T was not the death-bird's cry from the wood, That lips alone, thus stamp'd with heat Had for a moment all the power Nor shivering fiend that hung in the blast; 'Twas the shade of Helderic-man of blood To make our souls effusing meet! It screams for the guilt of days that are past ! That we might mingle by the breath In all of love's delicious death; See how the red, red lightning strays, And in a kiss at once be blest, And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! As, oh! we trembled at the rest! Now on the leafless yew it plays, Pity me, love! I'll pity thee, Where hangs the shield of this son of death! If thou indeed hast felt like me. All, all my bosom's peace is o'er! That shield is blushing with murderous stains; At night, which was my hour of calm, Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray ; When from the page of classic lore, It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains, From the pure fount of ancient lay, But neither can take the blood away! My soul had drawn the placid balm Oft by that yew, on the blasted field, Which charm'd its little griefs away ; Demons dance to the red moon's light; Ah! there I find that balm no more. While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging Those spells, which make us oft forge shield The fleeting troubles of the day, In deeper sorrows only whet With wearied sense and wakeful eye, While my brain maddens, where, O wher Is that serene consoling prayer, To love thee with a spirit's love; Which once has harbinger'd my rest, To make thy purer wish my own, When the still soothing voice of Heaven And mingle with thy mind alone. Has seem'd to whisper in my breast, Oh! I appeal to those pure dreams “Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven!” In which my soul has hung on thee, No, though I still in semblance pray, And I've forgot thy witching form, My thoughts are wandering far away, And I've forgot the liquid beams And e'en the name of Deity Is murmur'd out in sighs for thee!! 1 This irregular recurrence of the rhymes is adopted fros And bid it throb with guiltier fires. the light poetry of the French, and is, I thiok, particulary suited to express the varieties of feeling. In gentler eme tions, the verses may tlow periodic and regular; and in the 1 This poem is perfectly in the taste of the present day-transition to violent passion, can assume all the animated “his nam plebecula gaudet."-E. abruptness of blank verse. Besides, by dispensing with tha |