THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS

ON HER BIRTHDAY.

Ir 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 even Fancy's visions fade
Like stars before the sun?

I gazed, and felt upon my lips

The 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
Their memory from my view.

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
The 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 poets' 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 wo
This little signet yet may lock,—

What utterances 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 the unwritten page,
And feelings of futurity!-

Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift

To date the epistolary sheet,
The blest occasion of the gift
Shall make its recollection sweet;

Sent when the star that rules your fates
Hath reach'd its influence most benign-
When every heart congratulates,
And none more cordially than mine.

So speed my song-mark'd with the crest
That erst the adventurous Norman* wore,
Who won the Lady of the West,

The daughter of Macaillain Mor.

Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd
With glory in the strife of swords,
Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words!

Yet little might I prize the stone,
If it but typed the feudal tree

From whence, a scatter'd leaf, I'm blown
In Fortune's mutability.

* A Norman leader, in the service of the King of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung.

No!-but it tells me of a heart
Allied by friendship's living tie;
A prize beyond the herald's art
Our soul-sprung consanguinity!

KATHERINE! to many an hour of mine

Light wings and sunshine you have lent; And so adieu, and still be thine

The all-in-all of life-Content!