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A GARLAND FOR A WHITE FOREHEAD.
Now if Time knows
The spirit of mine eyes
Still thou art shining bright.
Like a flower-bird at night.*
Thy Beauty walketh by my side
In pleasant bower and lea;
Upon the orange-tree;
Is looking up to me.
* How delicious were those lines of Cowley:
Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Moonlight sleeps on wood and flower!
From me thy Beauty will not part.
Beloved! that thou art.
Like odour on my heart.
OH, Beautiful! when Venus sprung,
Eve of the waters, into sight,
A garland of delight:
And motion breathing music sweet,
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.
SOFTLY tread! Cythera keeps
* This was a favourite conceit of Philostratus; and has certainly something to recommend it.
See! the dimpled pillow glows
Wake her not! enchanted dreams
WAITING FOR THE BELOVED IN MAY.
May's red lips are breathed apart
Gladness from her Cave of Cloud
Hark! along the covert green,
All things dost thou bring with thee,
* The Nightingale.
SIDNEY WALKER AND JOHN MOULTRIE.
Tempora nam licet hic placidis dare libera Musis,
Milton ad Carolum Deodatum.
Let my lamp, at midnight hour,
oft outwatch the Bear,
How delightful it is in this busy and tumultuous age—this carnival of politics and commerce—to have a Cave to retire into; an Eugeria from whose lips to gather strains of serene beauty and wisdom, —there we can cool that fever of the spirits, which the excitement of the world so often occasions. Every step we take out of the narrow boundaries of the time we live in carries us into a purer atmosphere; and while the sweet air and the unclouded sky of Athens charm our senses into peace, the hoarse contention of this actual life dies away be