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Next came the interesting beau,
Oh! how did Laura love to vex The fair one of the other sex ! For him she practised every art That captivates and plagues the heart. Did he bring tickets for the play? No-Laura had the spleen to-day. Did he escort her to the ball ? No-Laura would not dance at all. Did he look grave ?—“the fool was sad ;". Was he jocose?," the man was mad.” E'en when he knelt before her feet, And there, in accent soft and sweet, Laid rank and fortune, heart and hand, At Laura's absolute command, Instead of blushing her consent, She “ wonder'd what the blockhead meant."
Yet still the fashionable fool
Sceming, like lady's lap-dog, vain
The next to gain the beauty's ear
Where nonsense flows, and numbers glide ; · And slumber'd on the herbage green,
That decks the banks of Hippocrene.
He came—and rhym'd-he talk'd of fountains,
" Laura-I perish for your sake," (Here he digress'd, about a lake ;) “ The charms thy features all disclose,”(A simile about a rose ;) “ Have set my very soul on fire,”. (An episode about his lyre;) “ Though you despise--I still must love,"-(Something about a turtle dove ;)
* “ Aut insanit homo,-aut versus facit.”-HOR.
“ All Bedlam--or Parnassus is let out." - POPE.
“ Alas! in death's unstartled sleep,”(Just here he did his best to weep;)
Laura, the willow soon shall wave,
Years fleeted by, and every grace
rouge won't make one young for ever ; Laura should think of being sage, You know--she's of a certain age.”
Her wonted wit began to fail,
For Chremes talked too much of stocks,
I gaz'd upon that lifeless form,
WRITTEN ON THE LAST LEAF OF SHAKSPEARE.
So now the charmed book is ended, Mary!
The wand is broken, and the spell is o'er ; And thou hast mused or smiled o'er witch and faery,
Till Fancy's imps familiar semblance wore.
What though thy tongue's sweet song be distant far?
By that soft bosom, and that gentle eye,
I knew thee genuine child of poesy, When erst thou told'st me of that twin-born star,
Divinest SPENSER! When did either seem (As they to thee) two boats upon one stream, Wafting the rapt soul to some region fair, If meek-eyed Genius were not hov'ring there? Never! therefore, thrice-happy Maiden, wander on, Again the wand is whole, the spell is not yet gone!
FROM HARTLAND POINT.
Gales of th' Atlantic ! blithely are ye blowing !
What news bring ye from o'er the Ocean waste ? Tides of th’ Atlantic! fiercely are ye flowing!
Mysterious agents! whither do ye haste? Answer! for here I stand, as once of yore*
That glorious demigod, Alcmena's son,
Foil'd all his foes, and all his labours done,
Where the red Sun down in the west was setting,
And saw the vision, whose bright shape besetting The dreams of the Liguriant him first sent Over the dim horizon! Matchless race! To seek the Great Light in his hiding place.
HERE were a bower for Love! This balmy grot
Cresting the mountain summit, whiles around The thick oaks shut the world from this sweet spot,
The great sea rolls beyond with ceaseless sound ! On such an eve as this, O Mary, be
In such a place as this, and I will tell
My love with holier warmth, touch'd by the spell Intense of heaven, of air, of earth, and sea.
* Herculis Promontorium.-CAMDEN.