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LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE.

HE

ER attachment may differ from yours in degree,

Provided they are both of one kind ; But Friendship how tender so ever it be

Gives no accord to Love, however refined.

Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature

revealing, Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs : If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling,

You must lower down your state to hers.

NOT AT HOME.
THAT Jealousy may rule a mind

Where Love could never be
I know; but ne'er expect to find

Love without Jealousy.

She has a strange cast in her ee,

A swart sour-visaged maid-
But yet Love's own twin-sister she

His house-mate and his shade.

Ask for her and she'll be denied :

What then ? they only mean
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,

And can't just then be seen.

TO A LADY,

OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT

WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS.

I said, you

NAY, dearest Anna ! why so grave ?

had no soul, 'tis true ! For what you are, you cannot have :

'Tis I that have one since I first had you !

I HAVE heard of reasons manifold

Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold

His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS.

OB. ANNO DOM. 1088. *

No more ’twixt conscience staggering and the

' Pope Soon shall I now before my God appear,

* Literary Souvenir, 1827.

By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear.-

REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE.

:

Lynx amid moles ! had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul ! I would have said :
I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer
Right onward. What though dread of threaten'd

death
And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath
Inconstant to the truth within thy heart?
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice

didst start,

Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
Or not so vital as to claim thy life :
And myriads had reach'd Heaven, who never knew
Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true !

Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
And proudly talk of recreant Berengare-
O first the age, and then the man compare !
That age how dark ! congenial minds how rare !
No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn !
No throbbing hearts awaited his return !

Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
He only disenchanted from the spell,

Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
Moved in the scanty circlet of his light :
And was it strange if he withdrew the

ray That did but guide the night-birds to their prey ?

The ascending day-star with a bolder eye
Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn !
Yet not for this, if wise, shall we decry
The spots and struggles of the timid dawn;
Lest so we tempt th' approaching noon to scorn
The mists and painted vapours of our morn.

SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM;

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN POET AND FRIEND,

FOUND WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF AT THE BEGINNING

OF BUTLER'S BOOK OF THE CHURCH.

POET.

I

NOTE the moods and feelings men betray,

And heed them more than aught they do or say; The lingering ghosts of many a secret deed Still-born or haply strangled in its birth; These best reveal the smooth man's inward creed ! These mark the spot where lies the treasure Worth !

- made up of impudence and trick,
With cloven tongue prepared to hiss and lick,
Rome's brazen serpent-boldly dares discuss
The roasting of thy heart, O brave John Huss !
And with grim triumph and a truculent glee

Absolves anew the Pope-wrought perfidy,
That made an empire's plighted faith a lie,
And fix'd a broad stare on the Devil's eye-
(Pleased with the guilt, yet envy-stung at heart
To stand outmaster'd in his own black art !)
Yet

FRIEND.
Enough of — ! we're agreed,

Who now defends would then have done the deed. But who not feels persuasion's gentle sway, Who but must meet the proffer'd hand half way When courteous

POET (aside). (Rome's smooth go-between !)

FRIEND. Laments the advice that sour'd a milky queen(For "bloody" all enlighten'd men confess An antiquated error of the press :) Who rapt by zeal beyond her sex's bounds, With actual cautery staunch'd the Church's wounds ! And tho’ he deems, that with too broad a blur We damn the French and Irish massacre, Yet blames them both—and thinks the Pope might

err ! What think you now? Boots it with spear and

shield Against such gentle foes to take the field Whose beckoning hands the mild Caduceus wield ?

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