And mar sometimes their brightness with a tear?

The vainer and less gentle are more gay,

Over the level wave they glide away,

And little know what hidden rocks are near.

CXXVIII.

"You must give back," her mother said, To a poor sobbing little maid,

"All the young man has given you,

Hard as it now may seem to do."

""Tis done already, mother dear!"

Said the sweet girl,

66

So, never fear."

Mother. Are you quite certain? Come, recount (There was not much) the whole amount.

Girl. The locket: the kid gloves.

Mother.

Go on.

Girl. Of the kid gloves I found but one.

Mother. Never mind that. What else? Proceed. You gave back all his trash?

Girl.

Indeed.

Mother. And was there nothing you would save? Girl. Everything I could give I gave.

Mother. To the last tittle?

Girl.

Mother. Freely?

Even to that.

Girl. My heart went pit-a-pat

At giving up

ah me! ah me!

I cry so I can hardly see

All the fond looks and words that past,

And all the kisses, to the last.

CXXIX.

If you please we'll hear another
Timid maid, without the mother.
Unless you are tired, for these
We must travel into Greece.
I know every bay and creek;
Fear no pirate in the Greek.
Here we are, and there is she;
Stand and hide behind the tree.
She will (for I'm grave and gray)
Tell me all she has to say.

Guest. Violet-eyed little maid!
Of what are you afraid?

Maid. O it is Dian's spear,
Sharp-pointed, I most fear.
Guest. So then you would prefer
Venus, I think, to her?

Maid. Yes; Venus is so good!

I only wish she would

Keep her sad boy away

Who mocks at all I say.

Guest. What could he then have heard?
Maid. Don't ask me. . Every word!

Guest. She has heard me ere now.

If you repeat the vow,

I will repeat it too,

And that perhaps may do:

Where there is only one

But little can be done.

Maid. Perhaps tho' you may blame.

Ah me! I am all flame.

Guest. With love?

Maid.

No, no; with shame.

Guest. Each word that you repeat

Will much abate the heat.

Maid. Well then. . I pray. . Don't ask . .

I can not bear the task.

Guest. Of all the queens above

Fear most the queen of love.

For those alone she cares

Who well repeat their prayers.

Maid. O then I must, I find,

(But do not look) be blind.

Well, well, now!

you shall hear;

But don't come quite so near.

PRAYER.

'Venus! I fear thy dove

Is somewhere in my breast: Yes, yes, I feel him move,

He will not let me rest.

If he should ever go,

I fancy I should sink ;

He fans and wafts me so,

I think.. what do I think?

O Venus! thou canst tell . .

'Tis wicked to rebel!'

"Twas Love: I heard him speak, But dared not turn my neck;

The maid I love ne'er thought of me
Amid the scenes of gaiety;

But when her heart or mine sank low,

Ah then it was no longer so.

From the slant palm she rais'd her head, And kist the cheek whence youth had fled. Angels! some future day for this,

Give her as sweet and

pure a kiss.

CXXXI.

All poets dream, and some do nothing more.
When you have turn'd this paper o'er,
Then you may tell me, if you please,
Which I resemble most of these.
One morning as outstretcht I lay,
Half-covered by the new-mown hay,
I saw a bird high over-head,
And round him many smaller fled.
To me he seem'd a hawk or kite,

The little birds (who should be in a fright,
Yet never are, as you must oft have found)
Flew many after, many round.

Unable at full stretch to keep
My eyes, they wearied into sleep:

And, soon as I had sank upon the grass,

I saw the large and little pass

All into other shapes; the great one grew

Like Time; like full-grown Loves the smaller flew;
All kept their course, as they had done before;
But soon the less quite vanisht; he, the great,
Moved on in slow and solemn state,

Until I thought at last he reacht the skies;
And then I opened (somewhat late) my eyes.

CXXXII.

Neither the suns nor frosts of rolling years
Dry up the springs or change the course of tears.
Sorrow will ever mark her stated days,
Sacred as those Religion claims for praise.

CXXXIII.

Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipt away?

Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.

I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,

I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.

With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 'twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.

CXXXIV.

Thou whom the wandering comets guide,
O turn awhile to Virtue's side,
Goddess by all adored! and deign
Once more to smile on rising Spain.
No secret pang my bosom wrings
For prostrate lords and captive kings;
I, mighty Power, invoke thy aid
To Valour crost and Faith betray'd.
O leave the marshal'd ranks of war,
Nor blindly urge Bellona's car,

When hearts so generous, arms so brave,
Resist the conqueror, spurn the slave,

And, striking home for equal laws,
Pray Fortune to sustain the cause.
Not such is theirs as wafted o'er
The crescent and the crafty Moor;
No tears for virgin honour flow,
No father calls the avenging foe;
Napoleon leads no faithless host,
Nor tears the heart that trusts him most;
A rescued son, a prince restored,
Against his country draws the sword,
And wily priests in vengeful mood
Surround their fires with dykes of blood:
Turn then, O Fortune, and sustain
The cause of Freedom and of Spain!

CXXXV.

Humblest among the vernal train,
In giddy Flora's gustful reign,
Uplift, uplift thy timid eyes!
The violet shuns the trying hour,
Soon sheds the rose its fondled flower,
The gaudy tulip flaunts and dies.
When Autumn mourns his gloomy end,
When rains and howling blasts descend,
When hill and vale and wood are bare,
Before my path thy light I see,

And tho' no other smiles to me,

Thou smilest, here and everywhere.

What name more graceful couldst thou chuse
Than Caledonia's pastoral Muse,

Breath'd in the mellow reed of Burns?
Art thou not proud that name to share
With her from whom, so passing fair,
No heart unconquer'd e'er returns?

CXXXVI.

Let this man smile, and that man sigh
To see the wheels of Fashion whirl;
Place me in some cool arbour nigh

My mild and modest country girl;

Or under whitening poplars, high

O'er flirting brooks, that glance and purl To attract such flowers as peer and pry, My mild and modest country girl!