GUY.

MORTAL mixed of middle clay,
Attempered to the night and day,
Interchangeable with things,
Needs no amulets nor rings.
Guy possessed the talisman
That all things from him began;

And as, of old, Polycrates

Chained the sunshine and the breeze,

So did Guy betimes discover
Fortune was his guard and lover;
In strange junctures, felt, with awe,
His own symmetry with law;
That no mixture could withstand
The virtue of his lucky hand.
He gold or jewel could not lose,
Nor not receive his ample dues.
In the street, if he turned round,
His eye the eye 't was seeking found.
It seemed his Genius discreet
Worked on the Maker's own receipt,
And made each tide and element
Stewards of stipend and of rent;
So that the common waters fell
As costly wine into his well.
He had so sped his wise affairs

That he caught Nature in his snares;
Early or late, the falling rain
Arrived in time to swell his grain;
Stream could not so perversely wind
But corn of Guy's was there to grind;
The siroc found it on its way,

To speed his sails, to dry his hay;
And the world's sun seemed to rise,
To drudge all day for Guy the wise.
In his rich nurseries, timely skill
Strong crab with nobler blood did fill;
The zephyr in his garden rolled
From plum-trees vegetable gold;
And all the hours of the year

With their own harvest honored were.
There was no frost but welcome came,
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame.
Belonged to wind and world the toil
And venture, and to Guy the oil.

TO EVA.

O FAIR and stately maid, whose eyes
Were kindled in the upper skies

At the same torch that lighted mine;
For so I must interpret still
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will,
A sympathy divine.

Ah! let me blameless gaze upon
Features that seem at heart my own;
Nor fear those watchful sentinels,
Who charm the more their glance forbids,
Chaste-glowing, underneath their lids,

With fire that draws while it repels.

THE AMULET.

YOUR picture smiles as first it smiled;
The ring you gave is still the same;
Your letter tells, O changing child!
No tidings since it came.

Give me an amulet

That keeps intelligence with you,Red when you love, and rosier red,

And when you love not, pale and blue.

Alas! that neither bonds nor vows

Can certify possession;

Torments me still the fear that love
Died in its last expression.

HERMIONE.

ON a mound an Arab lay,

And sung his sweet regrets,
And told his amulets:

The summer bird

His sorrow heard,

And, when he heaved a sigh profound,
The sympathetic swallow swept the ground.

'If it be, as they said, she was not fair,
Beauty 's not beautiful to me,
But sceptred genius, aye inorbed,
Culminating in her sphere.

This Hermione absorbed

The lustre of the land and ocean,
Hills and islands, cloud and tree,
In her form and motion.

'I ask no bawble miniature,

Nor ringlets dead

Shorn from her comely head,

Now that morning not disdains
Mountains and the misty plains
Her colossal portraiture;
They her heralds be,
Steeped in her quality,