The Lady smiled one radiant smile,

And the Lady rode away.— There is not a lady in all our Isle,

I have heard a Poet say,

Who can listen more than a little while
To a poet's sweetest lay.—

His mother's voice was fierce and shrill
As she set the milk and fruit :
"Out on thine unrewarded skill,
And on thy vagrant lute;

Let the strings be broken an they will,
And the beggar lips be mute!"

Peace, peace! the pilgrim as he went
Forgot the Minstrel's song,

But the blessing that his wan lips sent
Will guard the Minstrel long,
And keep his spirit innocent,

And turn his hand from wrong.

Belike the child had little thought

Of the moral the Minstrel drew;

But the dream of a deed of kindness wroughtBrings it not peace to you?

And doth not a lesson of virtue taught

Teach him that teaches too?

And if the Lady sighed no sigh

For the Minstrel or his hymn,

Yet when he shall lie 'neath the moonlit sky Or lip the goblet's brim,

What a star in the mist of memory

That smile will be to him!

IN these gay pages there is food

For every mind and every mood,

Fair Lady, if you dare to spell them : Now merriment-now grief prevails; But yet the best of all the tales

Is of the young group met to tell them.

Oh was it not a pleasant thought

To set the pestilence at nought,

Chatting among sweet streams and flowers

Of jealous husbands, fickle wives,

Of all the tricks which love contrives

To see through veils, and talk through towers?

Lady, they say the fearful Guest
Onward-still onward to the west,

Poised on his sulphurous wings, advances, Who on the frozen river's banks

Has thinned the Russian despot's ranks,
And marred the might of Warsaw's lances.

Another year-a brief brief year—
And lo, the fell destroyer here!

He comes with all his gloomy terrors ;
Then Guilt will read the properest books,
And Folly wear the soberest looks,
And Virtue shudder at her errors.

And there'll be sermons in the street; friend and foe we meet

And every

Will wear the dismal garb of sorrow; And quacks will send their lies about, And weary Halford will find out

He must have four new bays to-morrow.

But you shall fly from these dark signs,
As did those happy Florentines,

Ere from your cheek one rose is faded;
And hide your youth and loveliness

In some bright garden's green recess,

By walls fenced round, by huge trees shaded.

WRITTEN IN LADY MYRTLE'S "BOCCACCIO."

There brooks shall dance in light along,
And birds shall trill their constant song
Of pleasure from their leafy dwelling;
You shall have music, novels, toys;
But still the chiefest of your joys
Must be, fair Lady, story-telling.

Be cautious how you choose your men :
Don't look for people of the pen,

Scholars who read, or write the papers;
Don't think of wits, who talk to dine,
Who drink their patron's newest wine,
And cure their patron's newest vapours.

Avoid all youths who toil for praise
By quoting Liston's last new phrase,

Or sigh to leave high fame behind them
For swallowing swords, or dancing jigs,
Or imitating ducks and pigs;

Take men of sense,—if you can find them.

Live, laugh, tell stories; ere they're told,
New themes succeed upon the old,

New follies come, new faults, new fashions;
An hour-a minute will supply

To thought a folio history

Of blighted hopes, and thwarted passions.

II