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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

AT NIGHT.*

At night, when all is still around,
How sweet to hear the distant sound

Of footstep, coming soft and light !
What pleasure in the anxious beat,
With which the bosom flies to meet

That foot that comes so soft at night!

And then, at night, how sweet to say
“ 'Tis late, my love!” and chide delay,

Though still the western clouds are bright;
Oh ! happy, too, the silent press,
The eloquence of mute caress,

With those we love exchang’d at night!

These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its do rice a Cupid with the words "at night" written over him.

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TO LADY HOLLAND.

ON NAPOLEON'S LEGACY OF A SNUFF-BOX.

Gift of the Hero, on his dying day,

To her, whose pity watch’d, for ever nigh; Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray,

This relic lights up in her generous eye, Sighing, he'd feel how easy ’t is to pay

A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy.

Paris, July, 1821.

EPILOGUE.

WRITTEN FOR LADY DACRE'S TRAGEDY OF INA.

Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat,
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and — all that,
And wondering much what little knavish sprite
Had put it first in women's heads to write :
Sudden I saw

as in some witching dream
A bright-blue glory round my book-case beam,
From whose quick-opening folds of azure light
Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright
As Puck the Fairy, when he

pops

his head, Some sunny morning from a violet bed. * Bless me!” I starting cried, “what impare

you ?

"A small he-devil, Ma'am

my name Bas BLEO

* A bookish sprite, much given to routs and reading; *T is I who teach your spinsters of good breeding, " The reigning taste in chemistry and caps, “ The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps, “ And, when the waltz has twirld her giddy brain, “ With metaphysics twirl it back again!”

I view'd him, as he spoke — his hose were blue,
His wings

the covers of the last Review Cerulean, border'd with a jaundice hue, And tinsell’d gaily o'er, for evening wear, Till the next quarter brings a new-fledg’d pair. "Inspir'd by me -(pursued this waggish Fairy) “That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary, “ Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse, “ Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes. “ For me the

eyes

of
young

Camilla shine, “And mingle Love's blue brilliances with mine; “For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking, Looks wise — the pretty soul ! — and thinks she's

thinking • By my advice Miss Indigo attends “ Lectures on Memory, and, assures her friends, ***Pon honcur!-(mimics) - nothing can surpass

the plan * Of that professor - (trying to recollect) - psha!

that memory-man ** That

what's his name ? - him I attended

lately **'Pon honour, he improv'd my memory greatly.""

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