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It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to

meet her call,

Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing

serpent's thrall.

You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from the sight,

For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with hideous light;

Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of

her hand,

And round they went, and down they went, as the

cock crew from the land.

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS.

ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

IF any white-wing'd Power above

My joys and griefs survey,

The day when thou wert born, my love

He surely bless'd that day.

I laugh'd (till taught by thee) when told
Of Beauty's magic powers,

That ripen'd life's dull ore to gold,

And changed its weeds to flowers.

My mind had lovely shapes pourtray'd ;

But thought I earth had one

Could make ev'n Fancy's visions fade

Like stars before the sun?

I gazed, and felt upon my lips
Th' unfinish'd accents hang:

One moment's bliss, one burning kiss,
To rapture changed each pang.

And though as swift as lightning's flash Those tranced moments flew,

Not all the waves of time shall wash

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But duly shall my raptured song,

And gladly shall my eyes,

Still bless this day's return, as long

As thou shalt see it rise.

LINES

ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST,

FROM K. M, BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.

THIS wax returns not back more fair

Th' impression of the gift you send, Than stamp'd upon my thoughts I bear The image of your worth, my friend!

We are not friends of yesterday; –

But poet's fancies are a little

Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,)

By turns impressible and brittle.

Well! should its frailty e'er condemn

My heart to prize or please you less,

Your type is still the sealing gem,

And mine the waxen brittleness.

What transcripts of my weal and woe
This little signet yet may lock, —

What utt'rances to friend or foe,

In reason's calm or passion's shock!

What scenes of life's yet

curtain'd

page

May own its confidential die,

Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page,

And feelings of futurity!-

Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift

To date th' epistolary sheet,

The blest occasion of the gift

Shall make its recollection sweet;

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