With the wayward, flashing flight And you speak—and bring with you When you called to me my name, When I heard your single cry In the lane, All the sound was as the "sweet When you sang the Schwalbenlied, 'Twas absurd, But it seemed no human note That I heard ; For your strain had all the trills, All the little shakes and stills, Of the over-song that rills From a bird. You have just their eager, quick "Airs de tête," All their flush and fever-heat Every bird-like nod and beck, When she gives a little peck When you left me, only now, In that furred, Puffed, and feathered Polish dress, I was spurred Just to catch you, O my Sweet, Yet, alas! Love's light you deign But to wear As the dew upon your plumes, And you care Not a whit for rest or hush; But the leaves, the lyric gush, And the wing-power, and the rush Of the air. So I dare not woo you, Sweet, Lest I lose you in a flash, As I may; Did I tell you tender things, You would shake your sudden wings ;You would start from him who sings, And away. THE LOVE-LETTER. "J'ai vu les mœurs de mon tems, et j'ai publié cette lettre." LA NOUVELLE HÉLOISE. F this should fail, why then I scarcely know IF What could succeed. banter), Here's brilliancy (and Byron ad lib., a chapter of Rousseau ; If this should fail, then tempora mutantur; Style's out of date, and love, as a profession, Acquires no aid from beauty of expression. "The men who think as I, I fear, are few," (Cynics would say 'twere well if they were fewer); "I am not what I seem,”—(indeed, 'tis true; Though, as a sentiment, it might be newer); "Mine is a soul whose deeper feelings lie More deep than words”—(as these exemplify). "I will not say when first your beauty's sun "If Love can look with all-prophetic eye,”— (The ears of some most terribly must tingle !) "Then I have dreamed you will not turn your face." This next, I think, is more than commonplace. 66 'Why should we speak, if Love, interpreting, Forestall the speech with favour found before? Why should we plead?—it were an idle thing, If Love himself be Love's ambassador !" Blot, as I live! Shall we erase it? No ;'Twill show we write currente calamo. "My fate, my fortune, I commit to you," (In point of fact, the latter's not extensive); "Without you I am poor indeed,"-(strike through, 'Tis true but crude-'twould make her apprehensive); "My life is yours-I lay it at your feet," (Having no choice but Hymen or the Fleet). "Give me the right to stand within the shrine, Where never yet my faltering feet intruded; "Give me the right to call you wholly mine," (That is, Consols and Three-per-Cents included); "To guard your rest from every care that cankers,-To keep your life,”—(and balance at your banker's). |