Thou says't, that we were born to meet,
That our hearts bear one common seal,
Oh, Lady! think, how man's deceit
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel!

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought,
Like day-beams through the morning air,
Hath gradual stole, and I have caught
The feeling ere it kindled there :

The sympathy I then betray'd,

Perhaps was but the child of art; The guile of one, who long hath play'd With all these wily nets of heart.

Oh! thou hast not my virgin vow!
Though few the years I yet have told,
Canst thou believe I lived till now,
With loveless heart or senses cold?

No-many a throb of bliss and pain,

For many a maid my soul hath prov'd; With some I wanton'd wild and vain, While some I truly, dearly lov'd!

The cheek to thine I fondly lay,

To theirs hath been as fondly laid; The words to thee I warmly say,

To them have been as warmly said.

Then, scorn at once a languid heart,

Which long hath lost its early spring ; Think of the pure, bright soul thou art,

And-keep the ring, oh! keep the ring,

Enough-now, turn thine eyes again;
What, still that look, and still that sigh!
Dost thou not feel my counsel then?
Oh no, beloved!-nor do I.

While thus to mine thy bosom lies,

While thus our breaths commingling glow, "Twere more than woman, to be wise, "Twere more than man to wish thee so!

Did we not love so true, so dear,

This lapse could never be forgiven; But hearts so fond and lips so near

Give me the ring, and now-Oh heaven!

To

ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A

RICH GIRDLE.

ΜΑΡΓΑΡΙΤΑΙ ΔΗΛΟΥΣΙ ΔΑΚΡΥΩΝ ΡΟΟΝ.

Ap. Nicephor. in Oneirocritico.

Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh!
Let weeping angels view it;
Your cheeks belie its virgin snow,
And blush repenting through it.

Put off the fatal zone you wear;
The lucid pearls around it

Are tears, that fell from Virtue there
The hour that love unbound it.

THE RESEMBLANCE.

-vo cercand' io

Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui
La desiata vostra forma vera.

Petrarc. Sonnett. 14%

Yes, if 'twere any common love,
That led my pliant heart astray,
I grant, there's not a power above
Could wipe the faithless crime away!

But, 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee,
That, oh! beneath the blessed sun,
So fair there are but thou and she!

Whate'er may be her angel birth,
She was thy lovely perfect twin,
And wore the only shape on earth,

That could have charm'd my soul to sin!

Your eyes!-the eyes of languid doves
Were never half so like each other!
The glances of the baby loves

Resemble less their warm-ey'd mother!

Her lip!-oh, call me not false hearted,
When such a lip 1 fondly prest;
"Twas love some melting cherry parted,
Gave thee one half and her the rest!

And when, with all thy murmuring tone, They sued half open to be kist,

I could as soon resist thine own,

And them, heaven knows! I ne'er resist.

Then, scorn me not, though false I be, 'Twas love that wak'd the dear excess; My heart had been more true to thee, Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less!

To

WHEN I lov'd you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute;
But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it!

Thus, whether we're on or we're off,
Some witchery seems to await you;
To love you is pleasant enough,

And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!