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And well the Poet at her shrine

May bend, and worship while he woos;

To him she is a thing divine,

The inspiration of his line,

His loved one and his Muse.

If to his song the echo rings

Of Fame 'tis woman's voice he hears;

If ever from his lyre's proud strings Flow sounds like rush of angel wings, "Tis that she listens while he sings,

With blended smiles and tears:

Smiles-tears-whose blessed and blessing power, Like sun and dew o'er summer's tree,

Alone keeps green through Time's long hour,

That frailer thing than leaf or flower,

A Poet's immortality.

1824.

A POET'S DAUGHTER.

FOR THE ALBUM OF MISS *** AT THE REQUEST OF HER FATHER.

"A LADY asks the Minstrel's rhyme."

A Lady asks? There was a time

When, musical as play-bell's chime

To wearied boy,

That sound would summon dreams sublime

Of pride and joy.

But now the spell hath lost its sway,

Life's first-born fancies first decay,

Gone are the plumes and pennons gay

Of young Romance;

There linger but her ruins gray,

And broken lance.

"Tis a new world--no more to maid,

Warrior, or bard, is homage paid;

The bay-tree's, laurel's, myrtle's shade,

Men's thoughts resign;

Heaven placed us here to vote and trade, Twin tasks divine!

""Tis youth, 'tis beauty asks; the green And growing leaves of seventeen

Are round her; and, half hid, half seen,

A violet flower,

Nursed by the virtues she hath been

From childhood's hour.”

Blind passion's picture-yet for this
We woo the life-long bridal kiss,

And blend our every hope of bliss

With hers we love;

Unmindful of the serpent's hiss

In Eden's grove.

Beauty-the fading rainbow's pride,

Youth-'twas the charm of her who died

At dawn, and by her coffin's side

A grandsire stands,

Age-strengthened, like the oak storm-tried

Of mountain lands.

Youth's coffin-hush the tale it tells!

Be silent, memory's funeral bells!

Lone in one heart, her home, it dwells

Untold till death,

And where the grave-mound greenly swells

O'er buried faith.

"But what if hers are rank and power,
Armies her train, a throne her bower,

A kingdom's gold her marriage dower,
Broad seas and lands?

What if from bannered hall and tower

A queen commands?"

A queen? Earth's regal moons have set.

Where perished Marie Antoinette?

Where's Bordeaux's mother? Where the jet

Black Haytian dame?

And Lusitania's coronet?

And Angoulême ?

Empires to-day are upside down,
The castle kneels before the town,

The monarch fears a printer's frown,

A brickbat's range;

Give me, in preference to a crown,

Five shillings change.

"But her who asks, though first among
The good, the beautiful, the young,
The birthright of a spell more strong
Than these hath brought her;

She is your kinswoman in song,

A Poet's daughter."