"His long career of life again,

"He would do all that he had done."-
Ah! 'tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birth-days speaks to me;
Far otherwise—of time it tells

Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly—
Of counsel mock'd—of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines—
Of nursing many a wrong desire—
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire

That cross'd my path-way for his star!
All this it tells, and, could I trace

Th' imperfect picture o'er again,

With power to add, retouch, efface

The lights and shades, the joy and pain,

How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away-

All-but that freedom of the mind

Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly;

68

And that dear home, that saving ark,

Where Love's true light at last I've found,
Cheering within, when all grows dark,
And comfortless, and stormy round!

FANCY.

THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've found
That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands, within her own bright round,
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.
Nor is it that her power can call up there

A single charm that's not from Nature won,
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single tint unborrow'd from the sun-
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on angels' wings!

LOVE AND HYMEN.

LOVE had a fever-ne'er could close
His little eyes till day was breaking;
And whimsical enough, Heaven knows,
The things he raved about while waking.

To let him pine so were a sin

One to whom all the world's a debtorSo Doctor Hymen was call'd in,

And Love that night slept rather better.

Next day the case gave further hope yet,
Though still some ugly fever latent ;-
"Dose, as before"-a gentle opiate,
For which old Hymen has a patent.

After a month of daily call,

So fast the dose went on restoring, That Love, who first ne'er slept at all,

Now took, the rogue! to downright snoring.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

SWEET Sirmio! thou, the very eye

Of all peninsulas and isles

That in our lakes of silver lie,

Or sleep, enwreathed by Neptune's smiles,

How gladly back to thee I fly!

Still doubting, asking can it be That I have left Bithynia's sky,

And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind
Lays down its load of care at last?

When, tired with toil on land and deep;
Again we tread the welcome floor

Of our own home, and sink to sleep

On the long-wish'd-for bed once more?

This, this it is, that pays alone

The ills of all life's former track—

Shine out, my beautiful, my own

Sweet Sirmio-greet thy master back.

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs
The light of Heaven, like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice-let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!

TO MY MOTHER.

Written in a Pocket-Book, 1822.

THEY tell us of an Indian tree

Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot, and blossom, wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms

Downward again to that dear earth From which the life, that fills and warms Its grateful being, first had birth.

'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it be)
This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!