Her lips with music eloquent To earth like thee, sweet Adriana. The joys that once my breast elated, Though yet, methinks, the morning wind Sweeps over my ear, with thy tones freighted: And then I pause, and turn aside From pleasure's throng of pangless-hearted, To weep! No. Sentiment and pride I Are by each other always thwarted! press my hand upon my brow, To still the throbbing pulse that heaves it, Recall my boyhood's faltered vow, And marvel-if she still believes it. But she is woman-and her heart, And those who list may yield it credit; I've never known-I've only read it. Love! 'tis a roving fire, at most The cuerpo santa of life's ocean; Now flashing through the storm, now lost- I have my doubts, and it-believers, I said I loved. I did. But ours Some dignity restrained the passion! We met-I always doffed my beaver; She smiled a careless "How d'ye do— Good morning, sir,"-I rose to leave her. She loved-she never told me so; I never asked-I could not doubt it ; For there were signs on cheek and brow; And asking! Love is known without it! 'Twas understood-we were content, And rode, and sang, and waltzed together! Alone, without embarrassment We talked of something-not the weather! Time rolled along-the parting hour With arrowy speed brought its distresses, A kiss-a miniature-a flower A ringlet from those raven tresses; And the tears that would unbidden start, (An hour, perhaps, and they had perished,) In the far chambers of my heart, I swore her image should be cherished. I've looked on peril-it has glared From levelled aim-from weapon bared- I'd not recall that hour of pain For years of bliss—it passed—we parted. We parted-though her tear-gemmed cheeks, And other beauties soon trepanned me. There was a Mrs. on her card, SONG.* LORD ROLAND. LORD ROLAND rose, and went to mass, "I'll deck with gems my bonnet's loop, And when lorn lovers sit and droop Sing merrily, sing merrily, Though Elgitha be thus untrue, So welcome-welcome hall or heath! Sing merrily, sing merrily, And fill the cup of wine! * First published in Knight's Quarterly Magazine. Proud Elgitha! a health to thee,— CHILDHOOD AND HIS VISITORS. ONCE on a time, when sunny May And smiling,-who could choose but love him? For not more glad than Childhood's brow Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old Time, in most appalling wrath, The birds were mute, the lilies faded. With curling lip and glancing eye Self-tortured, in his own dominion. Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night's awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup Full to the brim of bitter water; Poor Childhood bade her tell her name; And when the beldame muttered-"Sorrow," He said "Don't interrupt my game; I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow." The Muse of Pindus thither came, And wooed him with the softest numbers Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball, And taught him, with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise and acorns fall, And why no toy may last for ever. She talked of all the wondrous laws Which Nature's open book discloses, And Childhood, ere she made a pause, Was fast asleep among the roses. |