English

I.

This comes to let Liberia know,
 That beauty is so much heav'n's care,
That all, fine women say, or do,
 Is mark'd, and treasur'd, in the air.

II.

Hence, I, a stranger to your sight,
 Whose hand, perhaps, you do not know,
Learn, all you do, by day, or night,
 As by these presents, I shall show.

III.

Your memory cannot but retain
 Some hint of little Pope 's bold muse,
Who, made, by lady's secrets, vain,
 Did, once, a tell-tale subject chuse.

IV.

CANTO FIRST .

'T WAS on the twenty-fourth of May,
A pleasant, warm, sun-shiny day,
Militia folks paraded
With colours spread, with cannon too;
Such loud huzzas, such martial shew;
I thought the town invaded!

But when, on closer look, I spied
The Speaker march with gallant stride,
I knew myself mistaken:
For he, on Trenton's well-fought day,
To Burlington mistook his way,
And fairly sav'd his bacon.

Let none presume he stands so fast,
But that he may fall first or last:
The most confirm'd in grace
Stands in a slippr'y place:
He treads on ice, and if he take not care
Unto his steps, is down e're he's aware.

'Tis hard to keep a middle-way
'Twixt two extremes, and never stray,
Since to the worst, man's mind
By nature is inclind;
Each vertue hath two vices on both sides,
'Tis odds, that into one of them he slides.

So many snares, so many evils,
So many doubts, so many divels

O COME , light borne on eastern gales,
And bid our sorrows cease:
With flow'rets crown our smiling Vales
Thou gentle Cherub Peace!
Efface the horrid marks of War;
Each private Grudge remove;
With Plenty load the rustic's Car,
And fill the Land with Love.

Happy the moment when we are seated in the palace, thou and I,
With two forms and with two figures but with one soul, thou and I.
The colors of the grove and the voice of the birds will bestow immortality
At the time when we come into the garden, thou and I.
The stars of heaven will come to gaze upon us;
We shall show them the moon itself, thou and I.
Thou and I, individuals no more, shall be mingled in ecstasy,
Joyful, and secure from foolish babble, thou and I.
All the bright-plumed birds of heaven will devour their hearts with envy

In days of yore when, free and unconfin'd,
Man rov'd at large, and his own Will was law,
No ties restrain'd his selfish savage Mind;
The Mighty kept the Weak in slavish awe.
Till some sagacious Soul, pervading thro' the whole,
To Harmony reduc'd each jarring string;
And now the tuneful Band obeys the Master's hand,
While Echo sounds responsive Church and King!

In these, our vain and motley modern times,
When Whim, not Reason blindly leads the way;
And Virtue's varnish covers o'er our crimes,

How comes it, Messieurs! that we see you wear
Hats, that so much out-swell your usual air?
Had fam'd Gertruydenburg beheld this size,
Th' enormous brims had spoke the wearers wise,
While, there, proud conq'rors heard your monarch pray,
And, roughly, clipp'd the pinions of his sway;
Then, lost to fortune, and disrob'd of fame,
They'd pass'd for modest cov'rings of your shame.
But, now, you land, triumphant, on our shore.
And Anna 's thunder has forgot to roar:
While, here, you, smartly, give your master law,

[ALFRED DE MUSSET]

On a beautiful day of Spring,
Attracted by the strange charm of mystery,
I followed a lonely alley-way.

The west breeze was sweet;
Blue was the sky,
While in the branches of a lime tree
Chirped a bird-mother feeding her little ones.

And there I discerned a thousand charms
In the poetic scene;
While two large brown eyes in amazement
Laughed down at me.

Above my head the chirping of the birdlings
Mingled with the song of the birds;

When Charles's Horse, for want of Breath,
Like others fell a prey to Death,
No courtier dar'd to raise his head,
And tell the News, " that he was dead. "
At last they fix'd on Killigrew —
For what may not a Jester do?
A licens'd Wag, who, spite of Rule,
Will speak bold Truths and play the Fool,
And tell a Monarch to his face
His Horse is dead, if such the case.

In pride of War, when Heroes fall,
Then — Eloquence should grace the Pall;
In nervous Style their Worth proclaim;
And fix them on the rolls of Fame

The Albatross lives only on the borders of the earth.
It bathes its massive wings in the foam of the sea;
And it glides upon the waves without sinking.

It descends and mounts as the sea.
During lovely weather it is silent, but it cries during the tempest.

Like a dream suspended between sky and abyss
This bird neither flies nor swims.

Heavier than air, and lighter than the wave,
Bird-poet, bird-poet, this is thy lot! —