OH YIELD, FAIR LIDS.

From an unfinished MS. Drama, SHERIDAN,

Oн yield, fair lids, the treasures of my heart,

Release those beams, that make this mansion bright;
From her sweet sense, Slumber! though sweet thou art,
Begone, and give the air she breathes in light.

Or while, oh, Sleep, thou dost those glances hide,
Let rosy slumbers still around her play,

Sweet as the cherub Innocence enjoy'd,

When in thy lap, new-born, in smiles he lay.

And thou, oh Dream, that com'st her sleep to cheer,
Oh take my shape, and play a lover's part;

Kiss her from me, and whisper in her ear,

Till her eyes shine, 'tis night within my heart.

It may be inferred from a passage in Moore's "Life of Sheridan," that he intended the unfinished drama whence these lines are taken to be called "The Foresters;" and that he was very hopeful of it, for he was wont to exclaim occasionally, to confidential friends, "Ah! wait till my Foresters comes out!"

WE TWO.

SHERIDAN.

"WE two, each other's only pride,
Each other's bliss, each other's guide,
Far from the world's unhallow'd noise,
Its coarse delights and tainted joys,

Through wilds will roam and deserts rude-
For, Love, thy home is solitude.”

“There shall no vain pretender be,
To court thy smile and torture me,
No proud superior there be seen,

But nature's voice shall hail thee, queen."

"With fond respect and tender awe,
I will obey thy gentle law,

Obey thy looks, and serve thee still,
Prevent thy wish, foresee thy will,
And added to a lover's care,

Be all that friends and parents are."

These are also from the same MS. drama noticed in the foregoing song of "Oh, yield fair lids."

'BY COELIA'S ARBOUR.

SHERIDAN.

By Coelia's arbour, all the night,
Hang, humid wreath,-the lover's vow;
And haply, at the morning's light,

My love will twine thee round her brow.

And if upon her bosom bright

Some drops of dew should fall from thee;
Tell her they are not drops of night,

But tears of sorrow shed by me.

In these charming lines Sheridan has wrought to a higher degree of finish an idea to be found in an early poem of his addressed to Miss Linley, beginning "Uncouth is this mosscovered grotto of stone." The poem is too long for quotation at length, and in truth not worth it, the choice bit Sheridan remembered, however, and reconstructed as above. The 'original idea stood thus:

"And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve
Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew;
And just let them fall at her feet and they'll serve
As tears of my.sorrow entrusted to you.

"Or, lest they unheeded should fall at her feet,

Let them fall on her bosom of snow; and I swear
The next time I visit thy moss-cover'd seat,

Moore, in his life of Sheridan, quotes these lines; but does not quote them quite correctly. He gives them as follows:

he

"And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve
Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew;
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll serve
As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you."

Moore gives the quotation for the purpose of hinting that Sheridan borrowed the thought;
says,
"The conceit in the stanza resembles a thought in some verses of Angerianus :-

Whether Sheridan was likely to have been a reader of Angerianus is, I think, doubtful -at all events the coincidence is curious."--Moore's Life of Sheridan, vol. 1. p. 50.

Now, what is still more "curious," is, that Moore who accuses Sheridan of borrowing, is again (as in his foregoing songs) a borrower himself, from Sheridan;-let us refer to the following verses.

THOU HAST SENT ME A FLOWERY BAND.

MOORE.

THOU hast sent me a flowery band,

And told me 'twas fresh from the field;
That the leaves were untouched by a hand,
And the sweetest of odours would yield.
And indeed it is fragrant and fair,

But if it were breath'd on by thee,
It would bloom with a livelier air,
And would surely be sweeter to me.
Let the odorous gale of thy breath
Embalm it with many a sigh;
Nay, let it be wither'd to death,

Beneath the warm noon of thine eye,
And instead of the dew that it bears,
The dew dropping fresh from the tree,
On its leaves let me number the tears

That affection hath stolen from thee!

These last four lines are but another form of the idea in Sheridan's quatrain:"And if upon her bosom bright,

Some drops of dew should fall from thee;

Tell her they are not drops of night,

But tears of sorrow shed by me."

Moore, however, on the subject of plagiarism, declares "the descendants of Prometheus all steal the spark wherever they find it."

MOLLY BAWN.

SAMUEL LOVER.

Он, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
All lonely, waiting here for you?
While the stars above are brightly shining,
Because they've nothing else to do.
The flowers late were open keeping,
To try a rival blush with you;

But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping,
With their rosy faces wash'd with dew.

Oh, Molly Bawn, &c.

Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear,
And the pretty stars were made to shine;
And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear,
And may be you were made for mine;

The wicked watch-dog here is snarling,
He takes me for a thief you see;

For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling,
And then transported I should be.

Oh, Molly Bawn, &c.

THOUGH dark fate hath 'reft me
Of all that was sweet,

And widely we sever,
Too widely to meet,
Oh! yet, while one life-pulse
Remains in this heart,
'Twill remember thee, Mary,
Wherever thou art.

How sad were the glances,
At parting, we threw;
No word was there spoken,
But the stifled adieu;
My lips o'er thy cold cheek
All raptureless pass'd,
'Twas the first time I prest it,
It must be the last.

But why should I dwell thus
On scenes that but pain,
Or think on thee, Mary,
When thinking is vain;
Thy name to this bosom,
Now sounds, like a knell;
My fond one-my dear one,
For ever-farewell!

The accomplished authoress of " Psyche" exhibits woman's nature in its most beautiful

form in these verses-only a woman could have written them: a man never could have thought of them,