If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;

I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.

If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel'-
That voice that none can match.

Then tell me how to woo thee, love, etc.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow;

Nae maiden lays her skaith to me;

I never loved but you.

For you alone I ride the ring,

For you I wear the blue;

For you alone I strive to sing-
Oh, tell me how to woo!

Then tell me how to woo thee, love, etc.

Robert Graham.

I

SONG FROM "THE DUENNA"

NE'ER could any lustre see

In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,

But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouched by art?
I will own thy color true,

When yielding blushes aid their hue.

Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so when I see

That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

THE RACES

A BALLAD

GEORGE! I've been, I'll tell you where, But first prepare yourself for raptures; To paint this charming heavenly fair, And paint her well, would ask whole chapters.

Fine creatures I've viewed many a one,
With lovely shapes and angel faces,
But I have seen them all outdone

By this sweet maid, at

Races.

Lords, Commoners, alike she rules,
Takes all who view her by surprise,
Makes e'en the wisest look like fools,
Nay more, makes fox-hunters look wise.

Her shape-'tis elegance and ease,
Unspoiled by art or modern dress,
But gently tapering by degrees,
And finely, "beautifully less.'

Her foot-it was so wondrous small,
So thin, so round, so slim, so neat,
The buckle fairly hid it all,

And seemed to sink it with the weight.

And just above the spangled shoe,
Where many an eye did often glance,
Sweetly retiring from the view,

And seen by stealth, and seen by chance;

Two slender ankles peeping out,

Stood like Love's heralds, to declare,

That all within the petticoat

Was firm and full, and "round, and fair."

And then she dances-better far

Than heart can think, or tongue can tell,

Not Heinel, Banti, or Guimar,

E'er moved so graceful and so well.

So easy glide her beauteous limbs,
True as the echo to the sound,

She seems, as through the dance she skims,
To tread on air, and scorn the ground.

And there is lightning in her eye,
One glance alone might well inspire
The clay-cold breast of Apathy,

Or bid the frozen heart catch fire.

And zephyr on her lovely lips

Has spread his choicest, sweetest roses,
And there his heavenly nectar sips,
And there in breathing sweet reposes.

And there's such music when she speaks,
You may believe me when I tell ye,
I'd rather hear her than the squeaks
Or far famed squalls of Gabrielli.

And sparkling wit and steady sense,
In that fair form with beauty vie,
But tinged with virgin diffidence,
And the soft blush of modesty.

Had I the treasures of the world,

All the sun views or the seas borrow (Else may I to the devil be hurled),

I'd lay them at her feet to-morrow.

But as we Bards reap only Bays,

Nor much of that, though nought grows on it,

I'll beat my brains to sound her praise,

And hammer them into a sonnet.

And if she deign one charming smile
The blest reward of all my labours,
I'll never grudge my pains or toil,
But pity the dull squires, my neighbours.

George Ellis.

TO LADY ANNE HAMILTON

OO late I stayed, forgive the crime,-
Unheeded flew the hours;

How noiseless falls the foot of Time That only treads on flowers!

What eye with clear account remarks
The ebbing of his glass,

When all its sands are diamond sparks,
That dazzle as they pass?

Ah! who to sober measurement.
Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of paradise have lent
Their plumage for his wings?

Hon. William R. Spencer: