WOMAN.

A FRAGMENT.

WOMAN! thou loveliest gift that here below
Man can receive, or Providence bestow!
To thee the earliest offerings belong
Of opening eloquence, or youthful song;
Lovely partaker of our dearest joys!
Thyself a gift whose pleasure never cloys,-
Whose wished-for presence gently can appease
The wounds of penury, or slow disease,-
Whose loss is such, as through life's tedious way
No rank can compensate, no wealth repay;
Thy figure beams a ray of heavenly light
To cheer the darkness of our earthly night:
Hail, fair Enslaver! at thy changing glance
Boldness recedes, and timid hearts advance,
Monarchs forget their sceptre and their sway,
And sages melt in tenderness away.

(1818.)

MUNITO.

FROM A POEM ON DOGS.

THOUGH great Spadille, or that famed Prince of Loo,

All-conquering Pam, turn backward from his

view,

Swift in the noble chase, Munito tracks
The Royal guests amid Plebeian packs;
And though the cards in mixed confusion lie,
And mock the vigour of a human eye,
Munito still, with more than human art,
Knows Kings from Knaves, the Diamond from
the Heart:

Happy were men, if thus in graver things
Our Knaves were always parted from our Kings;
Happy the maid, who in Love's maze can part
The miser's Diamond from the lover's Heart!

(1818.)

LINES IN VOLTAIRE'S CHARLES XII. 245

LINES

WRITTEN IN THE FIRST LEAF OF VOLTAIRE'S 66 HISTOIRE DE CHARLES XII."

THOU little Book, thy leaves unfold
A tale of wonder and of glory,
And warring kings and barons bold
Adorn the pages of thy story.

Thy vein is noble; meet and fit
To catch and charm a youthful eye;
Thou teem'st with wonder and with wit;
And yet I look on thee, and sigh:

Thy tales are sweet, but they renew
Visions how sad! yet, ah, how dear!
Vain fancies mock my wandering view,
And recollection wakes a tear.

Thou bidd'st me think upon the hours
When giddy Tizy round me ran;
When glad I left Etona's bowers,
To laugh with laughing Mary Anne:

When Susan's voice of tenderness
My darkest sorrows could beguile;

When study wore its fairest dress,
Adorned by good Eliza's smile.

Alas! too soon before mine eye

Was spread the page of ancient lore; Too soon that meeting fleeted by,

Too soon those dreams of bliss were o'er.

I look on thee, and think again

Upon those halcyon days of gladness,
While Memory mingles joy and pain,
A mournful bliss, a pleasing sadness.

Ye friends with whom I may not be,

Ye forms that I have loved and left, What pleasure now shall beam on me, Of home and of your smiles bereft ?

My lot and yours are parted now;
And, oh! I should not thus repine,
If Fortune would on you bestow
The happiness-which is not mine.

Long weeks must pass, ere I may greet
The glad return of former bliss,-

Ere I may fly again to meet

A cousin's smile, a sister's kiss.

(ETON, 1820.)

TO FLORENCE.

LONG years have passed with silent pace,
Florence, since thou and I have met;
Yet-when that meeting I retrace,
My cheek is pale, my eye is wet;
For I was doomed from thence to rove,
O'er distant tracts of earth and sea,
Unaided, Florence!-save by love;

And unremembered-save by thee!
We met! and hope beguiled our fears,
Hope, ever bright and ever vain;
We parted thence in silent tears,
Never to meet-in life-again.
The myrtle that I gaze upon,
Sad token by thy love devised,
Is all the record left of one

So long bewailed-so dearly prized.
You gave it in an hour of grief,

When gifts of love are doubly dear; You gave it-and one tender leaf

Glistened the while with Beauty's tear.

A tear-oh, lovelier far to me,

Shed for me in my saddest hour, Than bright and flattering smiles could be, In courtly hall or summer bower.