Those babies that nestle so sly

Such thousands of arrows have got, That an oath, on the glance of an eye

Such as yours, may be off in a shot.

Should I swear by the dew on your lip,

Though each moment the treasure renews, If my constancy wishes to trip,

I may kiss off the oath when I choose.

Or a sigh may disperse from that flow'r
Both the dew and the oath that are there;
And I'd make a new vow every hour,
To lose them so sweetly in air.

But clear up the heav'n of your brow,

Nor fancy my faith is a feather;

On my heart I will pledge you my vow, And they both must be broken together!

Still, my belov'd! still keep in mind,
However far remov'd from me,
That there is one thou leav'st behind,
Whose heart respires for only thee!

And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care,
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! that heart is only mine

By ties all other ties above,

For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love.

SONG.

WHEN Time, who steals our years away,
Shall steal our pleasures too,
The mem'ry of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.

Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r
Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour

When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom;

Our joys shall always last;

For Hope shall brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,

I drink to Love and thee:

Thou never canst decay in soul,
Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy lips the tear-drop chase,
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace

That sorrow leaves behind.
Then fill the bowl away with gloom!
Our joys shall always last;

For Hope shall brighten days to come,

And Mem'ry gild the past.

But mark, at thought of future years
When love shall lose its soul,
My Chloe drops her timid tears,

They mingle with my bowl.
How like this bowl of wine, my fair,

Our loving life shall fleet;

Though tears may sometimes mingle there,

The draught will still be sweet. Then fill the cup-away with gloom!

Our joys shall always last;

For Hope will brighten days to come,
And Mem'ry gild the past.

SONG.

HAVE you not seen the timid tear,

Steal trembling from mine eye? Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, Or caught the murmur'd sigh? And can you think my love is chill,

Nor fix'd on you alone?

And can you rend, by doubting still, A heart so much your own?

To you my soul's affections move,

Devoutly, warmly true;
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith be o'er,

If still my truth you'll try ;
Alas, I know but one proof more —
I'll bless your name, and die !

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

THE darkness that hung upon Willumberg's walls Had long been remember'd with awe and dismay; For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day.

Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam,

Yet none could the woods of that castle illume; And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighbouring stream,

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

"Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse !" Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave;"It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse,

Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!"

And who was the bright star of chivalry then ? Who could be but Reuben, the flow'r of the age? For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

That hero could smile at the terrors of death,
When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose;
To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath,
In the depth of the billows soon found his re-
pose. -

How strangely the order of destiny falls ! -
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,
Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray!
All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank.

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,
And heard but the breathings of night in the air;
Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And saw but the foam of the white billow there.

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream,

She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw, As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam.

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS.

WHY, let the stingless critic chide
With all that fume of vacant pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Like vapour on a stagnant pool.
Oh! if the song, to feeling true,
Can please th' elect, the sacred few,
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught,
Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought —
If some fond feeling maid like thee,
The warm-ey'd child of Sympathy,
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme
She languishes in Passion's dream,

"He was, indeed, a tender soul

No critic law, no chill control,

Should ever freeze, by timid art,
"The flowings of so fond a heart!"
Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love!

That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove,
Breath'd o'er my cradle warblings wild,
And hail'd me Passion's warmest child, ·
Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye,
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh;
Oh! let my song, my mem'ry, find
A shrine within the tender mind;
And I will smile when critics chide,
And I will scorn the fume of pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Like vapour round some stagnant pool!

TO JULIA.

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream,
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet :
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,
Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit !

THE SHRINE.

ΤΟ ......

My fates had destin'd me to rove
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay;
For, if the saint was young and fair,
I turn'd and sung my vespers there.
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require.
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But, trust me, all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, ev'ry humbler altar past,

I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

NATURE'S LABELS.

A FRAGMENT.

In vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;
In vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagirite :

And many a sage and learned skull
Has peep'd through windows dark and dull.
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor (howsoe'er "learn'd Thebans " doubt)
The inward woman, from without,
Methinks 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pithy, short descriptions write,
On tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles;

And where all men might read- but stay
As dialectic sages say,

The argument most apt and ample

For common use is the example.