Puslapio vaizdai

In the veined agate trace
The profile of thy Muse.

Painter, that still must mix

But transient tints anew, Thou in the furnace fix The firm enamel's hue;

Let the smooth tile receive
Thy dove-drawn Erycine;

Thy Sirens blue at eve
Coiled in a wash of wine.

ART alone

All passes.
Enduring stays to us;

The Bust out-lasts the throne,-
The Coin, Tiberius ;

Even the gods must go;
Only the lofty Rhyme
Not countless years o'erthrow,—
Not long array of time.

Paint, chisel, then, or write;

But, that the work surpass, With the hard fashion fight,— With the resisting mass.


"They are a school to win

The fair French daughter to learn English in ;
And, graced with her song,

To make the language sweet upon her tongue."

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As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet
In windings of some old-world dance,
The smiling couples cross and meet,
Join hands, and then in line advance,
So, to these fair old tunes of France,
Through all their maze of to and fro,
The light-heeled numbers laughing go,
Retreat, return, and ere they flee,
One moment pause in panting row,
And seem to say-Vos plaudite!



"Sans peser.-Sans rester."


OSE kissed me to-day.


Let it be as it may,

Rose kissed me to-day.

But the pleasure gives way
To a savour of sorrow ;-
Rose kissed me to-day,—
Will she kiss me to-morrow?

Will she kiss me to-morrow?


IN the School of Coquettes

Madam Rose is a scholar :


O, they fish with all nets
In the School of Coquettes!
When her brooch she forgets

'Tis to show her new collar; In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar!

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