O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine among my tresses,
A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve,
O Love! were you the keora's soul that haunts my silken raiment,
A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave;

O Love! were you the scented fan that lies upon my pillow,
A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine,
Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter,
Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?

Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sunset!

He

Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon of thy glory and grace,
Withhold not, O Love, from the night of my longing the joy of thy luminous face,
Give me a spear of the scented keora guarding thy pinioned curls,
Or a silken thread from the fringes that trouble the dream of thy glimmering pearls;
Faint grows my soul with thy tresses' perfume and the song of thy anklet's caprice,
Revive me, I pray, with the magical nectar that dwells in the flower of thy kiss.

She

Ho! Flesh and Blood! sweet Flesh and Blood
As ever strode on earth!
Welcome to Water and to Wood —
To all a Madman's mirth.
This tree is mine, this leafless tree
That's writhen o'er the linn;
The stream is mine that fitfully
Pours forth its sullen din.
Their lord am I; and still my dream
Is of this Tree — is of that Stream.

The Tree, the Stream — a deadly Twain!
They will not live apart;
The one rolls thundering through my brain,
The other smites my heart:
Ay, this same leafless fire-scathed tree,

A female friend advis'd a swain
Whose heart she wish'd at ease,
" Make love thy pleasure, not thy pain,
Nor let it deeply seize.

Beauty, where vanities abound,
No serious passion claims:
Then, till a phaenix can be found,
Do not admit the flames."

But griev'd, she finds all his replies
(Since prepossess'd when young)
Take all their hints from Silvia's eyes,
None from Ardelia's tongue.

Thus, Cupid, all their aim they miss,
Who would unbend thy bow;
And each slight nymph a phaenix is,
If thou would'st have it so.

Reader! since God expects thee, too,
Be, like our brother, kind and true;
Then, will three words thy worth express,
Honesty, Love, and Usefulness.

O voice divine, whose heavenly strain
No mortal measure may attain,
O powerful to appease the smart,
That festers in a wounded heart,
Whose mystic numbers can assuage
The bosom of tumultuous Rage,
Can strike the dagger from Despair,
And shut the watchful eye of Care.
Oft lur'd by thee, when wretches call,
Hope comes, that cheers or softens all;
Expell'd by thee and dispossest,
Envy forsakes the human breast.
Full oft with thee the bard retires,
And lost to earth, to Heav'n aspires;
How nobly lost! with thee to rove

Water from straws or wisps
is no love charm for thee;
'tis drawing to thee ardently
the love of him that pleaseth thee.

On Sunday rise thou early
to a level, broad flagstone;
and take with thee specimens
of butter-bur and monkshood;
lift those on thy shoulder
in a wooden shovel.

Get nine stalks of bracken,
cut down with an axe,
and three bones of an old man,
extracted from a grave;
burn it on a faggot fire,
and reduce the whole to ash.

Rub this on his white breast,
while facing the north wind,

I.

( FRIEND AND FRIEND .)

May we, then, never know each other?
Who love each other more, I dare
Affirm for both, than brother brother,
Ay! more, my friend, than they that are
The children of one mother.

A look — and lo, our natures meet!
A word — our minds make one reply!
A touch — our hearts have but one beat!
And, if we walk together — why,

The Graces sought in yonder stream
To cool the fervid day,
When Love's malicious godhead came,
And stole their robes away.

Proud of the theft, the little god
Their robes bade Delia wear;
While they, asham'd to stir abroad,
Remain all naked here.

" Man! put no trust in mysteries
Which none can understand:
Such dreams have sown iniquities
O'er every land:Dream not, but work! that Love and Peace
May o'er all states preside. "
These words " thy wisest " spoke, oh, Greece,
And therefore died.