Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin

(O sorrow and shame should this be true!)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,

So talks as it's most used to do.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Ἔρως ἄει λάληδρος έταιρος.

In many ways doth the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal;
But in far more th' estranged heart lets know

The absence of the love, which yet it fain would show.

ALICE DU CLOS:

OR THE FORKED TONGUE. A BALLAD.

“One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft: and a slit tongue be his blazon !" Caucasian Proverb.

“THE Sun is not yet risen,

But the dawn lies red on the dew:

Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away,

Is seeking, Lady, for you.

Put on your dress of green,

Your buskins and your quiver;

Lord Julian is a hasty man,

Long waiting brook'd he never.

I dare not doubt him, that he means
To wed you on a day,

Your lord and master for to be,
And you his lady gay.

O Lady! throw your book aside!

I would not that my Lord should chide.”

Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight

To Alice, child of old Du Clos,

As spotless fair, as airy light

As that moonshiny doe,

The gold star on its brow, her sire's ancestral crest!
For ere the lark had left his nest,

She in the garden bower below
Sate loosely wrapt in maiden white,
Her face half drooping from the sight,
A snow-drop on a tuft of snow!
O close your eyes, and strive to see
The studious maid, with book on knee,-

Ah! earliest-opened flower;

While yet with keen unblunted light

The morning star shone opposite

The lattice of her bower

Alone of all the starry host,
As if in prideful scorn

Of flight and fear he stay'd behind,
To brave th' advancing morn.

O! Alice could read passing well,
And she was conning then
Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.

The vassal's speech, his taunting vein,
It thrill'd like venom thro' her brain;
Yet never from the book

She rais'd her head, nor did she deign
The knight a single look.

'Off, traitor friend! how dar'st thou fix

Thy wanton gaze on me?

And why, against my earnest suit,

She said

and with a baleful smile
The vassal knight reel'd off-

Like a huge billow from a bark
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough,

That shouldering sideways in mid plunge,
Is travers'd by a flash.

And staggering onward, leaves the ear
With dull and distant crash.

And Alice sate with troubled mien
A moment; for the scoff was keen,
And thro' her veins did shiver !
Then rose and donned her dress of green,
Her buskins and her quiver.