For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.

1800.

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.

O Memory! thou choicest blessing

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How fond are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When lo! she changes in a day.

This record will for ever stand,

"Woman! thy vows are traced in sand."+

TO M. S. G.

WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive
Extend not your anger to sleep;

For in visions alone your affection can live

I rise, and it leaves me to weep

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,

Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,

What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,

Mortality's emblem is

given:

To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

If this be a foretaste of heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,

Nor deem me too happy in this;

If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

"Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes,

To twinkle in their spheres till they return."-SHAKSPEARE. This line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,
Oh! think not my penance deficient!

When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,
To awake will be torture sufficient.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheek which sprung from beauty's mould,
The lips which made me beauty's slave.
Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill

LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell you why-but yet I know not.
Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
And, Lesbia! we are not much older
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

Y

Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering pass'd away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

"Tis I that am alone to blame,

I that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

No, no, my flame was not pretended;
For, oh! I loved you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended-
My bosom still esteems you dearly.

No more we meet in yonder bowers;
Absence has made me prone to roving!
But older, firmer hearts than ours
Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,
New beauties still are daily bright'ning,
Your eye for conquest beams prepared,
The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY,

WHO HAD BEEN ALARMED BY A BULLET FIRED BY THE AUTHOR WHILE

DISCHARGING HIS PISTOLS IN A GARDEN.

DOUBTLESS, Sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,

And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,

Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

Surely some envious demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.

*This word is used by Gray, in his poem to the Fatal Sisters:-
"Iron sleet of arrowy shower

Hurtles through the darken'd air."

Yes! in that nearly fatal hour

The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear,
Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell:
Say, what dire penance can atone
For such an outrage done to thee?
Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,
What punishment wilt thou decree?
Might I perform the judge's part,
The sentence should scarce deplore;
It only would restore a heart

Which but belong'd to thee before.
The least atonement I can make
Is to become no longer free;
Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,
Thou shalt be all in all to me.

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt:

Come, then, some other mode elect;
Let it be death, or what thou wilt.

Choose then, relentless! and I swear

Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;

Yet hold-one little word forbear!

Let it be aught but banishment.

LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.

Αει, δ ̓ ἀει με φευγει.—ANACREON.

THE roses of love glad the garden of life,

Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu.

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;

The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may renew:

With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt,
Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth

Love twined round their childhood his flowers as they grew;

They flourish awhile in the season of truth,

Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask?-to distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu!

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu !

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew,
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is love's last adieu!

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due;

From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample in love's last adieu!

Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:

His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;
His cypress the garland of love's last adieu!

DAMÆTAS.

IN law an infant, and in years a boy,*
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;

From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

* In law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty

one.