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if their description tends to recall the fancy from that eccentricity to which it had been propelled in search of treasures without value, and objects without existence, to its natural course, or determine the relative proportion of happiness and misery allotted to the young and to the old-we shall rest satisfied with the picture we have drawn ; and in the hope that it will attach the memory and the affections of those for whom it is designed, to the scenes and associations of their early days, we are content to resign it to their hands, without adding another embellishment, which may endanger the reputation, or weaken the impression of our labour.
I've danc'd with Fanny fifty times,
I've laugh'd with Susan fifty more,
I've pros'd with Charlotte about rhymes,
And Boileau, Milanie, Fodor.
A younger came, with angel mien,
A dovelike eye, and heart so free-
Oh! Mary, had I never seen,
Or seeing, never ceas'd to see!
Edith! o'er the waters blue
Ere I'm gone, my love, adieu !
Ere from hence I fly away,
Hear, oh, hear me, while I pray!
Oh! whate'er may be my lot,
Edith, love, forget me not !
When you see this shady scene,
Where together we have been;
When yon babbling brook you view,
Which so oft we've listen'd to;
When you see my father's cot,
Edith, love, forget me not !
By the power thou hast to grieve me
By the thoughts that will not leave me-
By the fear that will not fly-
By the hope that cannot die-
By this sacred parting spot-
Edith, love, forget me not!
O'er the waters when I ride,
Thou shalt o'er my thoughts preside ;
In the battle's wild affray,
Thou shalt hold thy wonted sway;
Then, whate'er may be my lot,
Edith, love, forget me not!
Yet one--yet another kiss!
Then adieu to you and bliss !
-Oh! what anguish 'tis to part
From the ruler of my heart!
Edith, sweet, forget me not-
Thou canst never be forgot.
“ For she in shape and beauty did excel
All other idols that the heathen do adore." “ And all about her altar scatter'd lay
Great sorts of lovers piteously complaining.”-SPENSER.
A LOOK as blithe, a step as light, As fabled nymph, or fairy sprite;
A voice, whose every word and tone,
Might make a thousand hearts its own ;
A brow of fervour, and a mien
Bright with the hopes of gay fifteen ;
These, lov'd and lost one!-these were thine,
When first I bow'd at beauty's shrine.
But I have torn my wavering soul
From woman's proud and weak control ;
The fane where I so often knelt,
The flame my heart so truly felt,
Are visions of another time,
Themes for my laughter,--and my rhyme.
She saw and conquered ; in her eye
There was a careless cruelty
That shone destruction, while it seem'd
Unconscious of the fire it beam'd.
And oh! that negligence of dress,
That wild infantine
That archness of the trifling brow
That could command- -we knew not how
Were links of gold, that held me then,
In bonds I may not bear again ;
For dearer to an honest heart
Is childhood's mirth than woman's art.
Already many an aged dame,
Skilful in scandalizing fame,
Foresaw the reign of Laura's face,
Her sway, her folly, and disgrace.
Minding the beauty of the day
More than her partner, or her play :-
“ Laura a beauty ?-flippant chit !
I vow I hate her forward wit !"
(“I lead a club")" why, Ma'am, between us,
Her mother thinks her quite a Venus ;
every parent loves, you know,
To make a pigeon of her crow.”
“ Some folks are apt to look too high-
She has a dukedom in her eye.”
“ The girl is straight,” (“ we call the ace,") “ But that's the merit of her stays." “ I'm sure I loath malicious hints But-only look, how Laura squints." “ Yet Miss, forsooth,"/" who play'd the ten ?") “ Is quite perfection with the men ; The flattering fools--they make me sick," (" Well--four by honours, and the trick.")
While thus the crones hold high debate,
On Laura's charms, and Laura's fate;
A few short years have roll'd along,
And—first in pleasure's idle throng,
Laura, in ripen'd beauty proud,
Smiles haughty on the flattering crowd ;
Her sex's envy-fashion's boast,
An heiress—and a reigning toast.
The circling waltz and gay quadrille
Are in, or out, at Laura's will;
The tragic bard, and comic wit,
Heed not the critic in the pit,
If Laura's undisputed sway
Ordains full houses to the play;
And fair ones, of a humbler fate,
That envy, while they imitate,
From Laura's whisper strive to guess
The changes of inconstant dress.
Where'er her step in beauty moves,
Around her fly a thousand loves ;
A thousand graces go before,
While striplings wonder and adore :
And some are wounded by a sigh,
Some by the lustre of her eye ;
And these her studied smiles ensnare,
And those the ringlets of her hair.
The first his fluttering heart to lose, Was Captain Piercy, of the Blues ;
He squeez'd her hand-he gaz'd, and swore
He never was in love before ;
He entertain'd his charmer's ear,
With tales of wonder and of fear;
Talk'd much, and long, of siege and fight,
Marches by day, alarms by night ;
And Laura listen'd to the
Whether it spoke of love or glory;
For many an anecdote had he,
Of combat, and of gallantry;
Of long blockades, and sharp attacks,
Of bullets, and of bivouacks;
Of towns o'ercome and ladies too-
Of billet-and of billet-doux ;
Of nunneries, and escalades,
And damsels and Damascus blades,
Alas! too soon the Captain found
How swiftly Fortune's wheel goes round;
Laura at last began to doze,
E'en in the midst of Badajoz;
And hurried to a game at loo,
From Wellington and Waterloo.
The hero,-in heroics left,
Of fortune--and a wife--bereft;
With nought to cheer his close of day,
But celibacy—and half pay;
Since Laura-and his stars were cr
cruel, Sought his quietus in a duel.
He fought, and perish'd ; Laura sigh’d, To hear how hapless Piercy died; And wip'd her eyes, and thus express'd The feelings of her tender breast : “ What ? dead !-poor fellow—what a pity! He was so handsome and so witty : Shot in a duel too-good gracious ! -How I did hate that man's mustachios !!"