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And MEMoay, with a West AL's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attuned heart-string with delight—
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wing your vales among.

Scenes of my Hope the aching eye ye leave Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve Tearful and saddening with the saddened blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze: Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.

THE ROSE.

AS late each flower that sweetest blows
I plucked, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue ;
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest;
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On Spotless SARA's breast.

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile
And stamped his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy
He gazed the thrilled with deep delight!
Then clapped his wings for joy.

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THE KISS.

ONE kiss, dear Maid " I said and sighed—
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss 7
Can danger lurk within a kiss?

Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The SPIRIT of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er the uninjured Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling ;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The Triumphs of the opening Rose;

O fair O graceful bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low, <
Well-pleased I hear the whispered “No s”
The whispered “No”—how little meant!
Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent 1
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.

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