To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my Love,
They never say Good-night.

Percy B. Shelley.

CCCLXXXVI.

GOOD-NIGHT.

GOOD-NIGHT to thee, Lady! tho' many
Have join'd in the dance of to-night,
Thy form was the fairest of any,

Where all was seducing and bright;
Thy smile was the softest and dearest,
Thy form the most sylph-like of all,
And thy voice the most gladsome and clearest
That e'er held a partner in thrall.

Good-night to thee, Lady! 'tis over-
The waltz, the quadrille, and the song-
The whisper'd farewell of the lover,
The heartless adieu of the throng;
The heart that was throbbing with pleasure,
The eye-lid that long'd for repose-
The beaux that were dreaming of treasure,
The girls that were dreaming of beaux.
'Tis over-the lights are all dying,
The coaches all driving away;
And many a fair one is sighing,

And many a false one is gay;
And Beauty counts over her numbers

Of conquests, as homeward she drivesAnd some are gone home to their slumbers, And some are gone home to their wives.

And I, while my cab in the shower

Is waiting, the last at the door, Am looking all round for the flower

That fell from your wreath on the floor.
I'll keep it-if but to remind me,

Though wither'd and faded its hue-
Wherever next season may find me-
Of England--of Almack's-and you !

There are tones that will haunt us, tho' lonely
Our path be o'er mountain, or sea;
There are looks that will part from us only
When memory ceases to be;

There are hopes which our burthen can lighten,
Tho' toilsome and steep be the way;

And dreams that, like moonlight, can brighten With a light that is clearer than day.

There are names that we cherish, tho' nameless,
For aye on the lip they may be;

There are hearts that, tho' fetter'd, are tameless,
And thoughts unexpress'd, but still free!
And some are too grave for a rover,

And some for a husband too light,—

The Ball and my dream are all over

Good-night to thee, Lady, Good-night!

Edward Fitzgerald.

CCCLXXXVII.

CHIVALRY AT A DISCOUNT.

FAIR cousin mine! the golden days
Of old romance are over;

And minstrels now care nought for bays,
Nor damsels for a lover;

And hearts are cold, and lips are mute
That kindled once with passion,

And now we've neither lance nor lute,
And tilting's out of fashion.

Yet weeping Beauty mourns the time
When Love found words in flowers;
When softest sighs were breathed in rhyme,
And sweetest songs in bowers;

Now wedlock is a sober thing

No more of chains or forges !—

A plain young man-a plain gold ring--
The curate and St. George's.

Then every cross-bow had a string,
And every heart a fetter;

And making love was quite the thing,
And making verses better:

And maiden-aunts were never seen,
And gallant beaux were plenty;
And lasses married at sixteen,
And died at one-and-twenty.

Then hawking was a noble sport,

And chess a pretty science;

And huntsmen learnt to blow a morte,

And heralds a defiance;

And knights and spearmen show'd their might, And timid hinds took warning;

And hypocras was warm'd at night

And coursers in the morning.

Then plumes and pennons were prepared,
And patron-saints were lauded;
And noble deeds were bravely dared,
And noble dames applauded;

And Beauty play'd the leech's part,
And wounds were heal'd with syrup;

And warriors sometimes lost a heart,
But never lost a stirrup.

Then there was no such thing as Fear,
And no such word as Reason;
And Faith was like a pointed spear,

And Fickleness was treason;

And hearts were soft, though blows were hard; But when the fight was over,

A brimming goblet cheer'd the board,

His Lady's smile the lover.

Ay, these were glorious days! The moon

Had then her true adorers;

And there were lyres and lutes in tune,
And no such thing as snorers;
And lovers swam, and held at nought
Streams broader than the Mersey;
And fifty thousand would have fought
For a smile from Lady Jersey.

Then people wore an iron vest,
And had no use for tailors;

And the artizans who lived the best
Were armourers and nailers :

And steel was measured by the ell,
And trousers lined with leather;
And jesters wore a cap and bell,

And knights a cap and feather.

Then single folks might live at ease,
And married ones might sever;
Uncommon doctors had their fees,
But Doctors Commons never;
O! had we in those times been bred,
Fair cousin, for thy glances,
Instead of breaking Priscian's head,
I had been breaking lances!

Edward Fitzgerald.

CCCLXXXVIII.

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

LITTLE Ellie sits alone

'Mid the beeches of a meadow

By a stream-side on the grass,
And the trees are showering down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow
On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by,
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow:
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and dripping,
While she rocketh to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone,

And the smile she softly uses

Fills the silence like a speech,

While she thinks what shall be done,

And the sweetest pleasure chooses

For her future within reach.

Little Ellie in her smile
Chooses "I will have a lover,
Riding on a steed of steeds:
He shall love me without guile,
And to him I will discover

The swan's nest among the reeds.

"And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble,

With an eye that takes the breath
And the lute he plays upon
Shall strike ladies into trouble,

As his sword strikes men to death.

"And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure,

And the mane shall swim the wind;
And the hoofs along the sod
Shall flash onward and keep measure,
Till the shepherds look behind.

"But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face:

He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace !'

"Then, ay, then he shall kneel low,
With the red-roan steed anear him,
Which shall seem to understand,
Till I answer, 'Rise and go!
For the world must love and fear him
Whom I gift with heart and hand.'

"Then he will arise so pale,
I shall feel my own lips tremble
With a yes I must not say,
Nathless maiden-brave, Farewell,'

I will utter, and dissemble-
'Light to-morrow with to-day!'

"Then he'll ride among the hills
To the wide world past the river,
There to put away all wrong;
To make straight distorted wills,
And to empty the broad quiver
Which the wicked bear along.

"Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain,