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TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

1.

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

2.

Here I can trace the locks of gold,

Which round thy snowy forehead wave; The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.

Here I can trace

3.

-ah no! that eye

Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

4.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the Ocean playing?

5.

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be,

Save her, who plac'd thee next my heart.

6.

She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious, that her image, there,

Held every sense in fast controul.

7.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer;
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
And meet my fond expiring gaze.

DAMÆTAS.

In law an infant (1), and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy,
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd,

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Vers'd in hypocrisy while yet a child,

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool,
Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal, when others just begin;
Ev'n still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane.

(1) In Law, every person is an infant, who has not attained the age of twenty-one.

TO MARION.

MARION! Why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Lempis a stronger to thy breast;
He. ir dimning smiles, appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indiff'rence thrills us.
Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes, like thine, were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all, thou fain would'st say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips, but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse.
She blushes, curtsies, frowns,-in short she
Dreads lest the subject should transport me;
And flying off, in search of reason,
Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall, therefore, say, (whate'er
I think, is neither here nor there,)
Is that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things than sneering;

Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice, at least's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flatt'ry free;
Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself amongst a dozen.
Marion adieu! oh! prithee slight not
This warning, tho' it may delight nat;vol
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance leazing,
At once, I'll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning woman's soft dominion:
Howe'er we gaze with admiration,
On eyes of blue, or lips carnation;
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love;
It is not too severe a stricture,
To say they form a pretty picture.
But would'st thou see the secret chain
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.

us

OSCAR OF ALVA (1).

A TALE.

I.

How sweetly shines, thro' azure skies,
The lamp of Heav'n on Lora's shore;
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arms no more.

2.

But, often has yon rolling moon,
On Alva's casques of silver play'd;
And view'd, at midnight's silent noon,
Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd.

3.

And, on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er Ocean's sullen flow,
Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior low.

4.

While many an eye, which ne'er again,
Could mark the rising orb of day,
Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading ray.

(1) The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of « Jeronymo and Lorenzo, » in the first volume of << The Armenian, or Ghost-Seer: » it also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of « Macbeth. »

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