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'aulo,—who from a window seeing her Id straight across the lawn, and guessing

where, lad thought she waa in tear*, and found

that day lis usual efforts vain to keep away. 'May I come in?" said he:—it made her

start,— rhat smiling voice;—she coloured, pressed

her heart L moment, as for hreath, and then with free mil usual tone said: "O yes,—certainly."

lion's apt to he, at conscious times like these, in affectation of a bright-eyed ease, kn air of something quite serene and sure, Ls if to seem so, was to be secure: iVith this the lovers met, with this they

spoke, Vith this they sat down to the self-fsaiiic

1)01)1,

mil Paulo, by degrees, gently embraced *ith one permitted arm her lovely waist; Lnd both their checks, like peaches on a

tree, ipaned with a touch together thrillingly; mil o'er the book they hung, and nothing

said, Ind every lingering page grew longer as

they read.

ks thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart rheircolonr change, they came upon the part \ here fond Gcnevrn, with her flame long

nurst, imiled upon Launcelot when he kissed her

first:— That touch, at last, through every fibre slid; i ml I'uuln turned.scarcc knowing what he did, )nly he felt he could no more dissemble, mil kissed her, mouth to mouth, all in a

tremble, ind were those hearts, and sweet was that

long kiss: ■acred be love from sight, whate'er it is. The world was all forgot, the struggle o'er, desperate the joy.—That day they read no

more.

CHARLES LAMB.

HESTER.

Ivhkh maidens such as Hester die, I'hcir place ye may not well supply, I'lli)ugh ye among a thousand try, With vain endeavour.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot 1 by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed,
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate
Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flush'd her spirit.

I know net by what name beside
I shall it call:—if 'twas nut pride.
It was a joy to that allied,
She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker-rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool.
But she was train'd in Nature's school.
Nature had blest her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
A hank's keen :;i::lit ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbour, gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore,
Some summer-morning,

When from thy chearful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet fore-warning?

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.

I nAvn had playmates, I have had companions,

In my days of childhood, in my joyful schooldays,

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom-
cronies.
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I loved a love once, fairest among women!
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see

her— All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; Like an ingratc, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunt* of my childhood;

Earth seemed a desart I was bound to traverse,

Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,

Why wert not thou horn in my father's dwelling?

So might we talk of the old familiar faces—

How some they have died, and some they

have left me, # And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all arc gone, the old familiar faces.

A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

May the Babylonish curse

Strait confound my stammering verse.

If I can a passage see

In this word-perplexity,

Or a fit expression find.

Or a language to my mind,

(Still the phrase is wide or scant)

To take leave of thee, great plant!

Or in any terms relate

Half my love, or half my hate:

For I hate, yet love, thee so,

That, whichever thing I shew,

The plain truth will seem to be

A constrain'd hyperbole,

And the passion to proceed

More for a mistress than a weed.

Sooty retainer to the vine,

Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;

Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon

Thy begrimed complexion,

And, for thy pernicious sake,

More and greater oaths to break

Than reclaimed lovers take

'Gains! women: thou thy siege dost lay

Much too in the female way,

While thou suckst the lab'ring breath

Faster than kisses or than death.

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,

That our worst foes cannot find us,

And ill fortune, that would thwart us,

Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;

While each man, thro'thy hcight'ning steam,

Does like u smoking Etna seem,

And all about us does express

(Fancy and wit in richest dress)

A Sicilian fruitfulness.

Thou through such a mist dost shew us,
That our best friends do not know us,
And, for those allowed features,
Dne to reasonable crentures,
Likenst us to fell chimeras,
Monsters that, who see ns, fear us;
Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
Or, who first lov'd a cloud, Ixion.

Bacchus we know, and we allow
His tipay rites. But what art thou,

That but by reflex canst shew
What his deity can do,
As the false Egyptian spell
Aped the true Hebrew miracle?
Some few vapours thou mayst raise.
The weak brain may serve to araazr.
But to the reins and nobler heart
Canst nor life nor heat impart.

Brother of Bacchus, later born.
The old world was sore forlorn.
Wanting thee, that aidest more
The god's victories than before
All his panthers, and the brawls
Of his piping Bacchanals.
These, as stale, we disallow.
Or judge of thee meant: only thou
His true Indian conquest art;
And, for ivy round his dart.
The reformed god now weaves
A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

Scent to match thy rich perfume
Chemic art did ne'er presume
Through her quaint alembic straia.
None so sov'reign to the brain.
Nature, that did in thee exc^l,
Fram'd again no second smell.
Roses, violets, but toys
For the smaller sort of boys,
Or for greener damsels meant;
Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinking'st of the stinking kind.
Filth of the month and fog of the nisi
Africa, that brags her foyson.
Breeds no such prodigious poison.
Henbane, nightshade, both together,
Hemlock, aconite—Nay, rather.
Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
Blisters on the tongne would hurt vet.
'Twas but in a sort I blam'd thee;
None e'er prosper'd who defam'd thee;
Irony all, and feign'd abuse,
Such as perplext lovers use.
At a need, when, in despair
To paint forth their fairest fair.
Or in part but to express
That exceeding comeliness
Which their fancies doth so strike.
They borrow language of dislike;
And, instead of Dearest Miss.
Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
And those forms of old adutiring.
Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
Basilisk, and all that's evil.
Witch, Hyena, Mermaid. Devil,
Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;
Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,—
Not that she is truly so.
But no other way they know
A contentment to express.
Borders so upon excess.
That they do not rightly wot
Whether it be pain or not.

)>■. as men, constraint tn part

Villi what's nearest to their heart,

\ hili' their sorrow's at the height,

<osc discrimination quite,

i ml their hasty wrath let fall,

!'o appease their frantic gall,

)n the darling thing whatever,

V hence they feel it death to Rever,

"hough it he, as they, perforce,

iuiltless of the sad divorce.

"or I must (nor let it grieve thee,

'riendliestof plants, that I must) leave thee.

"or thy sake, Tobacco, I

■\ ould do any thing but die,

Lml but seek to extend my days

>ong enough tn sing thy praise.

{in, as she, who once hath been

L king's consort, is a queen

Cver after, nor will bate

k 11 v tittle of her state,

Though a widow, or divorced,

lo I, from thy converse forced,

riu- old name and style retain,

L right Kutherine of Spain;

Lnd a seat, too, 'mongst the joys

)f the blest Tobacco-Boys;

iVhere though I, by sour physician,

km debarr'd the full fruition

)f thy favours, I may catch

iome collateral sweets, and snatch

Sidelong odours, that give life

.like glances from a neighbour's wife;

lml still live in the by-places

Lnd the suburbs of thy graces;

Lnd in thy borders take delight,

tn unconquer'd Canaanite.

TO T. L. H.

Hoipkl of thy parent dear,

serious infant worth a fear:

n thy unfaultering visage well

'ii-turing forth the son of Tell,

iV lien on his forehead, firm and good,

Motionless mark, the apple stood;

J titleless traitor, rebel mild,

'onvict unconscious, culprit-child!

rates that close with iron roar

Have been to thee thy nursery-door;

"haiiiN that chink in cheerless cells

lave been thy rattles and thy bells;

Walls contrived for giant sin

Jave hemmed thy faultless weakness in;

Si ar thy sinless bed black guilt

tier discordant house hath built,

lnd filled it with her monstrous brood—

Sights, by thee not understood—

Sights of fear, anil of distress,

That pass a harmless infant's guess!

[Jut the clouds, that overcast

!"!• v young morning, may not last.

Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour,

That yields thee up to Nature's power.

Nature, that so late doth greet thee,

Shall in o'er-flowing measure meet thee,

She shall recompense with cost

For every lesson thou hast lost.

Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill,

Thou shnlt take thy airy fill

Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing

For thy delight each May-morning.

'Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou sbalt play,

Hardly less a lamb than they.

Then thy prison's lengthened bound

Shall be the horizon skirting round.

And while thou fillrsi thy lap with flowers,

To make amends for wintery hours,

The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,

Shall from thy tender brow efface

Each vestige of untimely care,

That sour restraint had graven there;

And on thy every look impress

A more excelling childishness.

So shall be thy days brguil'd,
Thornton Hunt, my favourite child.

TO MISS KELLV.

You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, That stoop their pride and female honor down To pli-nsi- that many-headed beast the town. And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for

gain; By fortune thrown amid the actors' train, You keep your native dignity of thought; The plaudits that attend you come unsought, As tributes due unto your natural vein. Your tears have passion in them, and a grace Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow; Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot

trace, That vanish and return we know not how— And please the better from a pensive face, A thoughtful eye, and a reflecting brow.

THE FAMILY-NAME.

What reason first imposed thee, gentle name, Name that my father bore, and his sire's sire. Without reproach? wc trace our stream no

higher; And I, a childless mnn, may end the same. Perchance some shepherd onLincolnian plains, In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks, Received thee first amid the merry mocks And arch allusions of his fellow-swains. Perchance from Salem's holier fields returned, With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord Took his meek title, in whose zeal he burn'd. Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings

came, No deed of mine shall shame thce.gcntlc name.

GEORGE CROLY.

SATAN.

PROM A PIC1TK8 B< BIB TllllMis HMIIKM'K,

Satan dilated stood.

Milto*.

Frincb of the fnll'n! around thee sweep
The hillowa of the bnrning deep;
Above thee low'rs the sullen fire,
Benenth thee bursts the flaming spire;

And on thy sleepless vision rise

Hell's living clouds of agonies.

But thou dost like a mountain stand,

The spear unlifted in thy hand;

Thy gorgeous eye,— a comet shorn,

Calm into utter darkness born;
A naked ginnt, stern, sublime,
Arm'd in despair, and scorning Time.

On thy curl'd lip is throned disdain,
That may revenge, but not complain:
Thy mighty cheek is firm, tho' pale,
There smote the blast of fiery hail,
Yet wan, wild beauty lingers there,
The wreck of an archangel's sphere.

Thy forehead wears no diadem —
The king is in thy eye-ball's beam;
Thy form is grandeur unsubdued.
Sole Chief of Hell's dark multitude.

Thou prison'd, ruin'd, unforgiven!

Yet fit to master all but Heaven.

WEDDED LOVE.

There is a love! 'tis not the wandering fire That must be fed on folly, or expire; Gleam of polluted hearts, the meteor-ray That fades as rises Reason's nobler day; Kut passion made essential, holy, bright, Like the rais'd dead, our dust transform'd

to light. Earth lias its pangs for nil; its happiest

breast Not his who meets them least, but bears

them best. Life must be toil! yet oh, that toil how

drear! But for this soother of its brief career. The charm that virtue, beauty; fondness bind, Till the mind mingles with its kindred mind! 'Tis not the cold romancer's ecstacy, The flame new-lit at every passing eye, But the high impulse that the stutely soul Feels slow engross it, but engross it whole;

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COLUMBUS' FIRST VIEW Of
AMERICA.

It was a land, unmarred fay art,
To please the eye and che^r the heart:
The natives' simple huts were sees
l'ceping their palmy groves Uetwera.—
Groves, where each dome of sweepy 1ft"
In air of morning gently heaves.
And, as the deep vans fall and rise,
Changes its richly verdant dyes;
A land whose simple sons till nmr
Had scarcely seen a care/til brow;
They spent at will each pausing day
In lightsome toil or active play.
Some their light canoes were guiding.
Along the shore's sweet margin jrlidinc;
Some in the sunny sea were minimis;.
The bright waves o'er their Hark (»»

gleaming:
Some on the beach for shellfish stsafis:-
Or on the smooth sand gaily troopisg;
Or in link'd circles featly dancing
With golden hraid and bracelet glaarist-
By sheltrr'd door were infants creepi"?-
Or on the shaded herbage sleeping:
Gay-feather'd birds the nir were *iifi«£
And parrots on their high perch »»«:";
While humming-bird*, like sparU of liffc
Twinkled and vanish'd from the sight

FISHERMAN'S SONG.

No fish stir in our heaving n. t.

And the sky is dark, and the night ii»'

And we must ply the lusty oar.

For the tide is ebbing from the shnfr;

And sad arc they whose faggots bora.

So kindly ator'd for our retain.

>ur boat in small, nnd the tempest raves, knil nought is heard but the lashing wares, Wul the sullen roar of the angry sea, km! the wild winds piping drearily: lit sea and tempest rise in vain, iVe'JI bless our blazing hearths again.

'unit bravely, Mates! onr guiding star Now from its towerlet streameth far; t ml now along the nearing strand, !ce, swiftly moves you flaming brand: before the midnight-watch is past, rVc'll iiiiall' our bowl,1 nnd mock the blast.

SONG FROM THE BEACON.

rVish'd-for gales the light vane veering, tetter dreams the dull night cheering; .ighter heart the morning greeting, 1'liings of better omen meeting; •'.yen each passing stranger watching, iurs each feeble rumour cutching. Say, he cxisteth still on enrthly ground. The absent will return, the long, lung lost be found.

n the tower the ward-bell ringing, n the court the carols singing; liisy hands the gay board dressing, finger steps the threshold pressing; >pen'd arms in haste advancing, loyful looks through blind tears glancing; Die gladsome bounding of his aged hound, juy, lie in truth is here, our long, long lost is fonnd.

lynincd thanks and bedesmen praying, rVitli sheathed sword the urchin playing; llazon'd hall with torches burning, Jlirrrful morn in pence returning, 'on verse sweet that strangely borrows •resent bliss from former sorrows— ). who can tell each blessed sight and sound, riiat says, he with us bides, our long, long lost is found!

JOHN KEATS.

PROCESSION AND HYMN IN HONOUR OF PAN.

.kadinc the way, ynnng damsels danced

along, (raring the burden of n shepherd-song; .11 !i having a white wicker over-brimm'd IVith April's tender younglings: next, well

triinm'd.

A crowd or shepherds with ns sunburnt looks,
As may be rend of in Arcnilinu books;
Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe,
When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
Let his divinity o'erflowing die
In music, through the tales of Thessaly:
Some idly trail'd their sheep-hooks on the

ground.
And some kept up n shrilly-mellow sound
With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these,
Now coming from beneath the forest-trees,
A venerable priest full soberly.
Begirt with ministering looks: always hi*

eye Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept. And after him his sacred vestments swept. From his right hand there swung a vase,

milk-white, Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous

light; And in his left he held, a basket full Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could

cull: Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still Than Lcda's love, and cresses from the rill. His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath, Scem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud Their share of the ditty. After them appear'd, Up-follow'd by a multitude that rear'd Their voices to the clouds, a fair-wrought

cur. Easily rolling so as scarce to mar The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown. Who stood therein did seem of great renown Among the throng; his youth was fully

blown. Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown; And, for those simple times, his garments

were A chieftain-king's: beneath his breast, half

bare. Was hung a silver bugle, and between His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen. A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd. To common lookers-on, like one who dream'd Of idleness in groves Elysian: But there were some who feelingly could scan A lurking trouble in his nether-lip, And see tlint oftentimes the reins would slip Through his forgotten hands: then would

they sigh, And think of yellow leaves, of owlet's cry,

Of logs piled solemnly Ah, well-a-day.

Why should our young Endymion pine away!

Soon the assembly, in a circle rang'd, Stood silent round the shrine: each look

was changed To sudden veneration: women meek Beckon'd their sons to silence; while each

cheek Of virgin-bloom paled gently for slight fear; Endymion too, without a forest-peer,

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