LE FAINEANT.

ease,

Fling boldly thy banner abroad in the breeze, Strike home for thy lady strive hard for the prize, And thy guerdon shall beam from her love-lighted eyes!"

"I shrink not the trial,” that bluff knight replied—
But I battle-not I-for an unwilling bride;
Where the boldest may venture to do and to dare,
My pennon shall flutter-my bugle peal there!

"I quail not at aught in the struggle of life,
I'm not all unproved even now in the strife,
But the wreath that I win, all unaided-alone,
Round a faltering brow it shall never be thrown!"

Now fie on thy manhood, to deem it a sin That she loveth the glory thy falchion might win; Let them doubt of thy prowess and fortune no more; Up! Sir Knight, for thy lady—and do thy devoir!" "She hath shrunk from my side, she hath fail'd in her trust,

Not relied on my blade, but remember'd its rust; It shall brighten once more in the field of its fame, But it is not for her I would now win a name."

The knight rode away, and the lady she sigh'd, When he featly as ever his steed would bestride, While the mould from the banner he shook to the wind

Seem'd to fall on the breast he left aching behind. But the rust on his glaive and the rust in his heart Had corroded too long and too deep to depart, And the brand only brighten'd in honour once more, When the heart ceased to beat on the fray-trampled shore.

TO AN AUTUMN ROSE.

TELL her I love her-love her for those eyes
Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth
Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,
Reveal two heavens here to us on Earth-
The one in which their soulful beauty lies,
And that wherein such soulfulness has birth:
Go to my lady ere the season flies,

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast-
Go! and with all of eloquence thou hast,
The burning story of my love discover,
And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her,
Tell her when youth's gay budding-time is past,
And summer's gaudy flowering is over,
Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!

SYMPATHY.

WELL! call it Friendship! have I ask'd for more,
Even in those moments, when I gave thee most?
"Twas but for thee, I look'd so far before!
I saw our bark was hurrying blindly on,
A guideless thing upon a dangerous coast-

Yes, call it Friendship, and let no revealing
If love be there, e'er make love's wild name heard,
It will not die, if it be worth concealing!
Call it then Friendship-but oh, let that word
Speak but for me--for me, a deeper feeling
Than ever yet a lover's bosom stirr'd!

A PORTRAIT.

NOT hers the charms which Laura's lover drew, Or Titian's pencil on the canvas threw; No soul enkindled beneath southern skies Glow'd on her cheek and sparkled in her eyes; No prurient charms set off her slender form With swell voluptuous and with contour warm; While each proportion was by Nature told In maiden beauty's most bewitching mould. High on her peerless brow-a radiant throne Unmix'd with aught of earth-pale genius sat alone. And yet, at times, within her eye there dwelt Softness that would the sternest bosom melt; A depth of tenderness which show'd, when woke, That woman there as well as angel spoke. Yet well that eye could flash resentment's rays, Or, proudly scornful, check the boldest gaze; Chill burning passion with a calm disdain, Or with one glance rekindle it again. Her mouth-Oh! never fascination met Near woman's lips half so alluring yet: For round her mouth there play'd, at times, a smile, Such as did man from Paradise beguile; Such, could it light him through this world of pain, As he'd not barter Eden to regain.

What though that smile might beam alike on all;
What though that glance on each as kindly fall;
What though you knew, while worshipping their
power,

Your homage but the pastime of the hour,
Still they, however guarded were the heart,
Could every feeling from its fastness start-
Deceive one still, howe'er deceived before,
And make him wish thus to be cheated more,
Till, grown at last in such illusions gray,
Faith follow'd Hope and stole with Love away.
Such was Alinda; such in her combined
Those charms which round our very nature wind;
Which, when together they in one conspire,
He who admires must love-who sees, admire.
Variably perilous; upon the sight
Now beam'd her beauty in resistless light,
And subtly now into the heart it stole,
And, ere it startled, occupied the whole.
"Twas well for her, that lovely mischief, well
That she could not the pangs it waken'd tell;
That, like the princess in the fairy tale,
No soft emotions could her soul assail;
For Nature, that Alinda should not feel

For wounds her eyes might make, but never heal,—
In mercy, while she did each gift impart

Of rarest excellence, withheld a heart!