( XVIII. CENT .)

When first in C ELIA'S ear I poured
A yet unpractised pray'r,
My trembling tongue sincere ignored
The aids of " sweet " and " fair. "
I only said, as in me lay,
I'd strive her " worth " to reach;
She frowned, and turned her eyes away, —
So much for truth in speech.

Then D ELIA came. I changed my plan;
I praised her to her face;

And she too — that beloved child, was gone —
Life's last and loveliest link. There was her place
Vacant beside the hearth — he almost dreamed
He saw her still; so present was her thought.
Then some slight thing reminded him how far
The distance was that parted her and him.
Fear dwells around the absent — and our love
For such grows all too anxious, too much filled
With vain regrets, and fond inquietudes:
We know not Love till those we love depart.

THE PRESERVATIVE OF LOVE AND BEAUTY .

Confess thy love, fair blushing maid;
For since thine eyes consenting,
Thy safter thoughts are a' betray'd,
And nasays no worth tenting.
Why aims thou to oppose thy mind,
With words thy wish denying?
Since nature made thee to be kind,
Reason allows complying.

Nature and reason's joint consent
Make love a sacred blessing;
Then happily that time is spent,

Your skies are blue, your sun is bright;
But sky nor sun has that sweet light
Which gleam'd upon the summer sky
Of my own lovely I TALY !
'Tis long since I have breathed the air
Which, fill'd with odours, floated there, —
Sometimes in sleep a gale sweeps by,
Rich with the rose and myrtle's sigh: —
'Tis long since I have seen the vine
With Autumn's topaz clusters shine,
And watch'd the laden branches bending,
And heard the vintage songs ascending;
'Tis very long since I have seen
The ivy's death wreath, cold and green,

WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF A GIRL BURNING A LOVE

LETTER

I took the scroll: I could not brook
An eye to gaze on it save mine;
I could not bear another's look
Should dwell upon one thought of thine.
My lamp was burning by my side,
I held thy letter to the flame,
I mark'd the blaze swift o'er it glide,
It did not even spare thy name.
Soon the light from the embers past,
I felt so sad to see it die,
So bright at first, so dark at last,

Another day — another day,
And yet he comes not nigh;
I look amid the dim blue hills,
Yet nothing meets mine eye.

I hear the rush of mountain-streams
Upon the echoes borne;
I hear the singing of the birds, —
But not my hunter's horn.

The eagle sails in darkness past,
The watchful chamois bounds;
But what I look for comes not near, —
My U LRIC'S hawk and hounds.

Three times I thus have watch'd the snow
Grow crimson with the stain
The setting sun threw o'er the rock,
And I have watch'd in vain.

A Small Poeme

FIRST WRITTEN 1642: BY THE SAME AUTHOR; TAKEN FROM THE ORIGINALL INTO THIS PLACE COPIED;
1.6.4.6.

Non est forma Satis, nec, quae vult' bella videri;
Debet vulgari more placere Sibi;
Dicta, Sales, lusus, sermonis gratia, risus,
Vincunt Naturae candidioris opus;
Condit enim formam, quicquid consumitur artis,
Et nisi velle subest, gratia tota perit.

TO CINTHIA; COYING IT

N OE LONGER Cinthia; have I spent
My time, but for a Complement?

PROLOGUE

Women like us (passing for men), you'll cry,
Presume too much upon your secrecy.
There's not a fop in town but will pretend
To know the cheat himself, or by his friend.
Then make no words on 't, gallants, 'tis e'en true,
We are condemn'd to look, and strut, like you.
Since we thus freely our hard fate confess,
Accept us these bad times in any dress.
You'll find the sweet on 't, now old pantaloons
Will go as far as formerly new gowns;
And from your own cast wigs expect no frowns.

" WHEN LOVE CAME FIRST "

When Love came first to Earth, the Spring
Spread rosebeds to receive him;
And back he vowed his flight he'd wing
To Heaven, if she should leave him.

But Spring departing saw his faith
Pledged to the next new comer —
He revelled in the warmer breath
And richer bowers of Summer.

Then sportive Autumn claimed by rights
An Archer for her lover;

AN ANACREONTIC ON LOVE

When a' the warld had clos'd their een,
Fatigu'd with labour, care, and din,
And quietly ilka weary wight
Enjoy'd the silence of the night;
Then Cupid, that ill-deedy geat,
With a' his pith rapt at my yeat.
Surpriz'd, throw sleep, I cry'd " Wha 's that? "
Quoth he " A poor young wean a' wat;
" Oh! haste ye apen, — fear nae skaith,
" Else soon this storm will be my death. "

With his complaint my soul grew wae,
For, as he said, I thought it sae: