Thus pleaded I for freedom's right;

But when young Beauty takes the field, And wise men seek defence in flight,

The doom of poets is to yield.

No more my heart th' enchantress braves,
I'm now in Beauty's prison hid;
The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves,

And I, too, sing whene'er I'm bid.

WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU LISTEN.

WHEN to sad Music silent you listen,

And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew. But when some lively strain resounding

Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow, Then the young rein-deer o'er the hills bounding Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou.

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest,
A lustre so pure thy features then wear,

That, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest,
We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there.
But, when the word for the gay dance is given,
So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth,
Oh then we exclaim, "Ne'er leave earth for heaven,
"But linger still here, to make heaven of earth."

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.

FLY swift, my light gazelle,

To her who now lies waking,

To hear thy silver bell

The midnight silence breaking.

And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet,

Beneath her lattice springing,

Ah, well she'll know how sweet

The words of love thou'rt bringing.

Yet, no-not words, for they

But half can tell love's feeling;

Sweet flowers alone can say

What passion fears revealing.
A once bright rose's wither'd leaf,
A tow'ring lily broken,-

Oh these may paint a grief

No words could e'er have spoken.

Not such, my gay gazelle,

The wreath thou speedest over
Yon moonlight dale, to tell

My lady how I love her.

And, what to her will sweeter be

Than gems the richest, rarest,
From Truth's immortal tree*

One fadeless leaf thou bearest.

The tree called in the East Amrita, or the Immortal.

THE DAWN IS BREAKING O'ER US.

THE dawn is breaking o'er us,

See, heaven hath caught its hue!
We've day's long light before us,
What sport shall we pursue?

The hunt o'er hill and lea?
The sail o'er summer sea?

Oh let not hour so sweet
Unwing'd by pleasure fleet.
The dawn is breaking o'er us,

See, heaven hath caught its hue!
We've day's long light before us,
What sport shall we pursue?

But see, while we're deciding,
What morning sport to play,
The dial's hand is gliding,

And morn hath pass'd away!