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(An episode about his lyre ;)

"Though you despise, I still must love,"(Something about a turtle dove ;) "Alas! in death's unstartled sleep,"-(Just here he did his best to weep;) "Laura, the willow soon shall wave Over thy lover's lonely grave." Then he began, with pathos due, To speak of cypress, and of rue. But Fortune's unforeseen award Parted the Beauty from the Bard; For Laura, in that evil hour, When unpropitious stars had power, Unmindful of the thanks she owed, Lighted her taper with an ode. Poor William all his vows forgot, And hurried from the fatal spot, In all the bitterness of quarrel, To write lampoons-and dream of laurel.

Years fleeted by, and every grace
Began to fade from Laura's face;
Through every circle whispers ran,
And aged dowagers began
To gratify their secret spite:-

How shocking Laura looks to-night!
We know her waiting-maid is clever,
But rouge won't make one young forever;
Laura should think of being sage,

You know-she's of a certain age."

Her wonted wit began to fail,

Her eyes grew dim, her features pale;
Her fame was past, her race was done,
Her lovers left her one by one;
Her slaves diminished by degrees,
They ceased to fawn-as she to please.
Last of the gay, deceitful crew,
Chremes, the usurer, withdrew;
By many an art he strove to net
The guineas of the rich coquette;
But (so the adverse fates decreed)
Chremes and Laura disagreed;

For Chremes talked too much of stocks,
And Laura of her opera-box.

Unhappy Laura! sadness marred What tints of beauty time had spared; For all her wide-extended sway

Had faded, like a dream, away;

And they that loved her passed her by
With altered or averted eye.

That silent scorn, that chilling air,
The fallen tyrant could not bear;
She could not live when none admired,
And perished, as her reign expired.

I gazed upon that lifeless form, So late with hope and fancy warm; That pallid brow, that eye of jet,

Where lustre seems to linger yet;
Where sparkled through an auburn tress
The last dim light of loveliness,
Whose trembling ray was only seen,
To bid us sigh for what had been.
Alas! I said, my wavering soul,
Was torn from woman's weak control;
But when, amid the evening's gloom,
I looked on Laura's early tomb;
And thought on her, so bright and fair,
That slumbered in oblivion there;
That calm resolve I could not keep,
And then I wept,-as now I weep.

THE CONFESSION OF DON CARLOS

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

OH! tell not me of broken vow-
I speak a firmer passion now;
Oh! tell not me of shattered chain--
The link shall never burst again;
My soul is fixed as firmly here
As the red Sun in his career;

As Victory on Mina's crest,
Or Tenderness in Rosa's breast.
Then do not tell me, while we part,
Of fickle flame, and roving heart;
While Youth shall bow at Beauty's shrine,
That flame shall glow-that heart be thine.

Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell
The fate thy malice knows so well?

I may not disobey thee!-Yes!

Thou bidd'st me,-and I will confess:--
See how adoringly I kneel-

Hear how my folly I reveal;

My folly!-chide me if thou wilt,

Thou shalt not-canst not call it-guilt.
And when my faithlessness is to.d,
Ere thou hast time to play the scold,

I'll haste the fond rebuke to check,

And lean upon thy snowy neck,

Play with its glossy auburn hair,

And hide the blush of falsehood there.

Inez, the innocent and young,
First shared my heart, and waked my song;
We were both harmless, and untaught
To love as fashionables ought;
With all the modesty of youth,

We talked of constancy and truth;
Grew fond of Music, and the Moon,
And wandered on the nights of June,
To sit beneath the chestnut-tree,
While the lonely stars shone mellowly,
Shedding a pale and dancing beam
On the wave of Guadalquivir's stream.
And aye we talked of faith and feelings,
With no distrustings, no concealings;

And aye we joyed in stolen glances,

And sighed, and blushed, and read romances.
Our love was ardent and sincere,-
And lasted, Rosa-half a year!

And then the maid grew fickle-hearted,
Married Don José-so we parted.
At twenty-one, I've often heard,
My bashfulness was quite absurd;
For, with a squeamishness uncommon,
I feared to love a married woman.

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