And so gently you spoke of the youth who deceived, That I thought you perhaps might be tempted

again.

But you told me that passion a moment amused, Was follow'd too oft by an age of repenting; And check'd me so softly, that while you refused, Forgive me, dear girl, if I thought 'twas consenting!

And still I entreated, and still you denied,

Till I almost was made to believe you sincere ;

Though I found that, in bidding me leave you, you sigh'd,

And when you repulsed me, 'twas done with a

tear.

In vain did I whisper, " There's nobody nigh;"

In vain with the tremors of passion implore; Your excuse was a kiss, and a tear your reply—

I acknowledged them both, and I ask'd for no

more.

Was I right?-oh! I cannot believe I was wrong.
Poor Fanny is gone back to Timmol again;
And may Providence guide her uninjured along,

Nor scatter her path with repentance and pain!

By Heaven! I would rather for ever forswear

The Elysium that dwells on a beautiful breast, Than alarm for a moment the peace that is there, Or banish the dove from so hallow'd a nest!

A NIGHT THOUGHT.

How oft a cloud, with envious veil,
Obscures yon bashful light,

Which seems so modestly to steal
Along the waste of night!

'Tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs
Obscure with malice keen

Some timid heart, which only longs
To live and die unseen!

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

Sic juvat perire.

WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep,
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie!
How sweet is death to those who weep,

To those who weep and long to die!

Saw you the soft and grassy bed,

Where flow'rets deck the

green

earth's breast?

"Tis there I wish to lay my head,
'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest!

Oh! let not tears embalm my tomb,
None but the dews by twilight given!
Oh! let not sighs disturb the gloom,

None but the whispering winds of Heaven!

THE KISS.

GROW to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
On which my soul's beloved swore

That there should come a time of bliss
When she would mock my hopes no more;

And fancy shall thy glow renew,

In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, And none shall steal thy holy dew

Till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite. Sweet hours that are to make me blest, Oh! fly, like breezes, to the goal, And let my love, my more than soul, Come panting to this fever'd breast;

And while in every glance I drink
The rich o'erflowings of her mind,
Oh! let her all impassion'd sink,

In sweet abandonment resign'd,
Blushing for all our struggles past,
And murmuring, "I am thine at last!"

ΤΟ

WITH all my soul, then, let us part,
Since both are anxious to be free;
And I will send you home your heart,
will send back mine to me.

If

you

We've had some happy hours together, But joy must often change its wing; And spring would be but gloomy weather, If we had nothing else but spring.

'Tis not that I expect to find

A more devoted, fond, and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mind

Enough for me that she's a new one.

VOL. VII.

13

Thus let us leave the bower of love,
Where we have loiter'd long in bliss;
And you may down that path-way rove,
While I shall take my way through this.

Our hearts have suffer'd little harm
In this short fever of desire ;
You have not lost a single charm,
Nor I one spark of feeling fire.

My kisses have not stain'd the rose
Which Nature hung upon your lip ;
And still your sigh with nectar flows
For many a raptured soul to sip.

Farewell! and when some other fair
Shall call wanderer to her arms,

your

'Twill be my luxury to compare

Her spells with your remember'd charms.

"This cheek," I'll say, " is not so bright "As one that used to meet my kiss ; "This eye has not such liquid light "As one that used to talk of bliss!"

Farewell! and when some future lover

Shall claim the heart which I resign,