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TO MARION.

WHY, maiden, art thou sad? So young, so fair, What can thy gentle bosom know of sorrow? For age are meant the furrowing lines of care: Why, then, such moody airs shall maiden borrow?

Pray, hast thou caught that magic mirror's gleam,
Of fond fifteen, so apt to light the heart,
Melting the seal of love's bewildering dream
And at its revelations dost thou start?

So hath it been, so must it ever be,

When first, in seeming solitude, we hear

The voice of Echo; though, in ecstasy,

We fluttering follow, like charmed birds, in fear.

And thou dost find an echo every where,

A voice that blends with every tuneful tone,

In every melody that melts on air;

And yet that voice-pray, is it all unknown?

There is an image o'er the earth and sea,
Wherever grace or beauty seem to dwell-
A rainbow or a man. Confess to me,-
And if it's Sandy, maid, I will not tell.

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THE AGE OF HAIR.

As every dog must have his day,
Fools take their turn, and have their sway.
'Tis thus, conceiving man's chief part

To glorify the tailor's art,

The dandy struts his little season—
An ape in all-e'en lack of reason.
Nay, we forget: the true-born ape
Eschews a tail; but on the shape
Of that which decorates his end,
The dandy's station doth depend;
For if it deviate a hair

From Stultz's*-O, despair! despair!
So, ape, forgive the slip we made:

Thy rank and station 'twould degrade,
To place thy tailless dignity

Beside the dandy, in degree

A thing that glories in a cue,

And that, perchance, not paid for

But earthly pleasures pass away;

whew!

Kings turn to dust, and queens to clay;

* It may be necessary to say to the uninitiated, that Stultz is, or was, the prince of London tailors, and has exercised as extensive and despotic a sway as any other tyrant of modern times.

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