"If still your angel footsteps move, Where mine may never be. My lady love, my lady love, Oh, dream one dream of me!” Not long the Christian captive pined!— Queen Folly ne'er was yet content My heart to thee, my lady love, XII. Row on, row on!-The First may light My shallop o'er the wave to-night; As a madman's wish, or a woman's will. Row on, row on !—The Second is high Row on, row on!-When the Whole is fled, To the toils of day, and the haunts of men, And memory's dream of the things that were. XIII. ONE day my First young Cupid made For alas! he has learn'd his father's trade, He work'd not the work with golden twine, He left the metal to rust in the mine, My Second was born a wayward thing With a fancy as light as the gossamer's wing, And a spirit as hot as flame, And apt to trifle time away, Or very gayly grave; And far too weak, and far too wild, To rend what Venus' laughing child And alas! as he led, that festal night, And felt, by the flambeau's flickering light, He did not guess-as they paused to hear, How music's dying tone Came mournfully to the distant ear, With a inagic all its own That the archer god, to thrall his soul, Disguised that evening, like my Whole, With a sooty face and torch. XIV. WHEN Ralph by holy hands was tied For life to blooming Cis, Sir Thrifty too drove home his bride, A fashionable Miss, That day, my First, with jovial sound Proclaim'd the happy tale, And drunk was all the country round With pleasure-or with ale. Oh, why should Hymen ever blight Or why should women have a tongue, In being, like my Second, long, |