The rose and the stream I had thought of at

night

Should still be before me, unfadingly bright; While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over the stream,

And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream!

But see, through the harbour, in floating

array,

The bark that must carry these pages away,* Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel be

hind!

What billows, what gales is she fated to prove, Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love!

Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be,

And the sound of those gales would be music

to me!

Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew,

Not the silvery lapse of the summer-eve dew Were as sweet as the breeze, or as bright as the foam

Of the wave, that would carry your wanderer home!

*A ship, ready to sail for England:

LOVE AND REASON.

"Quand l'homme commence a raisonner, il cesse de J. J. ROUSSEAU.*

sentir."

Twas in the summer-time so sweet,

When hearts and flowers are both in season, That-who, of all the world should meet, One early dawn, but Love and Reason!

Love told his dream of yester-night,

While reason talk'd about the weather;
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,
And on they took their way together.

The boy in many a gambol flew,
While Reason, like a Juno stalk'd,
And from her portly figure threw
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd.

No wonder Love, as on they past,
Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast

Fell on the boy, and cool'd him still.

In vain he tried his wings to warm,

Or find a path-way, not so dim, For still the maid's gigantic form

Would pass between the sun and him!

* Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes da la Nature.

"This must not be," said little Love "The sun was made for more than you." So, turning through a myrtle grove,

He bid the portly nymph adieu!

Now gaily roves the laughing boy

O'er many a mead, by many a stream; In every breeze inhaling joy,

And drinking bliss in every beam.

From all the gardens, all the bowers,
He cull'd the many sweets they shaded,
And ate the fruits and smelt the flowers,
Till taste was gone and odour faded!

But now the sun, in pomp of noon,
Look'd blazing o'er the parched plains;
Alas! the boy grew languid soon,
And fever thrill'd through all his veins !

The dew forsook his baby brow,

No more with vivid bloom be smil'd→→→ Oh! where was tranquil Reason now, To cast her shadow o'er the child?

Beneath a green and aged palm,

His foot at length for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm,

With brow as cool, as his was burning!

"Oh! take me to that bosom cold,"
In murmurs at her feet he said;
And Reason op'd her garment's fold,
And flung it round his fever'd head.

He felt her bosom's icy touch,

And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest; For! ah the chill was quite too much, And love expir'd on Reason's breast!

NAY, do not weep, my FANNY dear!
While in these arms you lie,

The world hath not a wish a fear,,
That ought to claim one precious tear
From that beloved eye!

The world!—ah, FANNY! love must shun
The path where many rove;

One bosom to recline upon,
One heart to be his only-one,

Are quite enough for love!

What can we wish, that is not here
Between your arms and mine?
Is there, on earth, a space so dear,
As that within the blessed sphere
Two loving arms entwine!

For me there's not a lock of jet
Along your temples curl'd,
Within whose glossy, tangling net,
My soul doth not, at once forget
All, all the worthless world!

'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love!
My only worlds I see;

Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below and skies above
May frown or smile for me!

ASPASIA,

'Twas in the fair ASPASIA's bower,
That Love and Learning many an hour,
In dalliance met, and Learning smil'd,
With rapture on the playful child,
Who wanton stole, to find his nest
Within a fold of Learning's vest!

There, as the listening statesman hung
In transport on ASPASIA's tongue,
The destines of Athens took

Their colour from ASPASIA's look.
Oh happy time! when laws of state,
When all that rul'd the country's fate,
Its glory, quiet, or alarms,

Was plann'd between two snowy arms!

Sweet times! you could not always last-
And yet, oh! yet, you are not past;
Though we have lost the sacred mould,
In which their men were cast of old,