TO ROSINE, BY A FIFTH POET*.

I KNOW thee not, sweet Lady, but I know

(At least they know who say so) that thou art
Lovely of form, and innocent of heart,

A creature of meek thoughts, and tears that flow
From quiet love, and happy smiles, that throw

A moonlight round them. And thou art the bride
Of one by faith and goodness sanctified,
High-hearted, gentle, wise, and firm in woe.
Ah! wherefore such transcendent gifts bestow'd
On one, so rich already? Why not given
To one, whose soul more needed such sweet stay;
Some hapless wight, like me, at random driven,
Lonely and sad, along life's rugged road,
Without a breeze of love to cheer me on the way?

THE SILK HANDKERCHIEF.

"It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul!"

My heart leapt in me, as with swimming eye
I gazed upon that glossy kerchief white,
And the fair neck it shaded-'t was a sight
To steep a poet in in fine phantasy
Of same Elysian world, or wake soft sigh

In the chill breast of woe-lorn Anchorite.
Sweet maid! should it hereafter be my plight

To wander in some desert dull and dry,

Far from the haunts of men-alone to rove,

With my sad thoughts for partners, neither book,
Nor music, nor green field, nor woman's love,

To cheer my hopeless solitude-I'll look

To memory for my solace and delight,

And think of that fair neck, and glossy kerchief white!

E. H.

E. H.

THE STOLEN KISS.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM BY THE LATE ABRAHAM GENTIAN, ESQ.

Smooth'd be that brow-and chas'd the frown

Yet gathering to thy tardy will

Nor think to awe my raptures down,

For anger makes thee lovelier still.

*Written by way of companion to one by Gerard Montgomery, beginning with "Lady, I know three poets who know thee," &c. See No. III,

In vain thou wouldst compel the ire
But lightly felt, but faintly shown;
Thine eyes betray beneath their fire
The pardon thou would'st blush to own.

Then, still that proudly swelling breast,
Soften that lovely, mantling cheek;
'Twas but a Kiss, that well express'd
The tenderness I could not speak.

STANZAS.

It is not alone that time is stealing
Our beauty and strength as our lives decay,
It is that the pure and passionate feeling
Of youth, with our youth must pass away;

It is that the spoiler hath power to stifle
Each emotion we feel in our earlier day;
It is, that his rude hand is able to rifle
The thoughts that exalt and ennoble our clay;

It is that the best of our youthful affections
Are fleet as the forms they are doting upon;
These, these are the stern and appalling reflections
That embitter our tears as our years roll on.

SONG.

Lord Roland rose, and went to mass,
And doffed his mourning weed;
And bade them bring a looking-glass,
And saddle fast a steed;

"I'll deck with gems my bonnet's loop,

And wear a feather fine;

And when lorn lovers sit and droop,

Why, I will sit and dine ;

Sing merrily, sing merrily

And fill the cup of wine.

"Though Elgitha be thus untrue,
Adele is beauteous yet;

And he that's baffled by the blue
May bow before the jet ;

So welcome, welcome, hall or heath!
So welcome, shower or shine!
And wither there thou willow wreath,
Thou never shalt be mine ;-

Sing merrily, sing merrily!

And fill the cup of wine.

“Proud Elgitha, a health to thee,
A health in brimming gold,
And store of lovers after me,
As honest, and less cold;
My hand is on my bugle horn,
My boat is on the brine;
If ever gallant died of scorn,
I shall not die of thine ;-
Sing merrily, sing merrily!
And fill the cup of wine."

END OF VOL. II.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES,

Northumberland-Court.

V. J.