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A GARLAND FOR A WHITE FOREHEAD.
Now if Time knows
That her whose radiant brows
Weave them a Garland of my vows;
Her whose just bays
My future hopes can raise,
A trophy to her present praise;
Her that dares be
What these lines wish to see;-
THE spirit of mine eyes is faint
I close my eyelids, but within
Thy Beauty walketh by my side
Thy face from every crystal stream
* How delicious were those lines of Cowley:Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair.
Moonlight sleeps on wood and flower!
Beloved! that thou art.
The sweet breath of thine eyes doth fall*
Он, Beautiful! when Venus sprung,
And round her breast her tresses clung,
With lip, and cheek, and eye like thine,
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.
SOFTLY tread! Cythera keeps
Voices from Elysium lull
The slumber of the Beautiful!
*This was a favourite conceit of Philostratus; and has certainly something to recommend it.
See! the dimpled pillow glows
With her odorous breath of rose;
Wake her not! enchanted dreams
Stir not the Garland of sweet Dreams
Which sleep hath bound upon her head!
WAITING FOR THE BELOVED IN MAY.
MAY's red lips are breathed apart
Ever softly stealing thro',
When the silvery morning dew
Gladness from her Cave of Cloud
Hark! along the covert green,
Plenty scatters from thy horn.
All things dost thou bring with thee,-
Sweet airs to the aching head,
Then why, fair May, am I forgot?
sweet Flower not come to me!
* The Nightingale.
SIDNEY WALKER AND JOHN MOULTRIE.
Tempora nam licet hic placidis dare libera Musis,
Et totum rapiunt me, mea vita, libri.
Milton ad Carolum Deodatum.
Let my lamp, at midnight hour,
Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Or the tale of Troy divine !—Il Penseroso.
How delightful it is in this busy and tumultuous age-this carnival of politics and commerce-to have a Cave to retire into; an Eugeria from whose lips to gather strains of serene beauty and wisdom, —there we can cool that fever of the spirits, which the excitement of the world so often occasions. Every step we take out of the narrow boundaries of the time we live in carries us into a purer atmosphere; and while the sweet air and the unclouded sky of Athens charm our senses into peace, the hoarse contention of this actual life dies