AID of my love, sweet Genevieve!
In beauty's light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your voice, as Seraph's song.

Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of woe.
When sinking low the sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretcht to save,
Fair, as the bosom of the swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,
I've seen your breast with pity heave,
And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

B

SONNET.

TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON.

ILD splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery
light

Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil;
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud
Behind the gathered blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky.
Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.

AN ALLEGORY.

IN the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery
[spread,
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out-

place)

Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!

That far outstripped the other;

Yet ever runs she with reverted face,