A RE these propitious Hymen's fruits?
Must Beauty feel the shafts of Death?
When Spring the tender blossom shoots,
Why darts the South his tainted breath?

Extinguish'd is the torch of Love —
Near the cold urn these ashes fill:
In anguish mourns the Cyprian Dove,
And Flora's tears their odour spill.

The youthful Brides are struck with fear,
When Love has crown'd the nuptial bed;
In Stella's fate their own they hear,
And willows in the wreath are spread.

But let them smile, and be secure!

I.

Since Stella 's Charms, divinely fair,
First pour'd their Lustre on my Heart,
Ten thousand Pangs my Bosom tear,
And ev'ry Fibre feels the Smart.
If such the mournful Moments prove,
O who wou'd give his Heart to Love!

II.

I meet my Bosom-Friends with pain,
Tho' Friendship us'd to warm my Soul;
Wine's generous Spirit flames in vain,
I find no Cordial in the Bowl.
If such the mournful Moments prove,
O who wou'd give his Heart to Love!

III.

Tho' Nature's Volume open lies,

AND thus can storms of thine reprove,
Oh, God of Peace, of Hope, and Love!
Can this be life, that so can fade?
Breath — of the vernal dews afraid!
'Twas yesterday that Stella's bloom
Dispell'd all images of gloom,
With spirits of the new-born day,
And fearless of the night's decay;
That Nature, innocent of guile,
Was crown'd with Beauty's radiant smile,
With blushes that surpass'd the rose
When first its bright vermillion glows:
When Love prepar'd the nuptial bower,
And bless'd the consecrated hour.

I.

Within an unfrequented Grove
 As late I laid alone,
A tender Maid in deep Distress,
 At Distance, made her Moan.

II.

She cropt the blue-ey'd Violet,
 Bedew'd with many a Tear;
And ever and anon her Sighs
 Stole sadly on my Ear.

III.

“Ah faithless Man! how cou'd he leave
 So fond and true a Maid?
Can so much Innocence and Truth
 Deserve to be betray'd?

IV.

Alass, my Mother (if the Dead
 Can hear their Children groan.)
What ills your helpless Orphan feels,
 To Sorrow left alone!

[Edward to Lacy]
[I tell thee, Lacy, that]
—Her sparkling eyes
Do lighten forth sweet love's alluring fire;
And in her tresses she doth fold the looks
Of such as gaze upon her golden hair.
Her bashful white, mix'd with the morning's red,
Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks.
Her front is beauty's table, where she paints
The glories of her gorgeous excellence;
Her teeth are shelves of precious margarites,
Richly enclos'd with ruddy coral cleaves.

Age has been call'd " a Vale of Years ; "
Life , at the best, a Vale of Tears ;
Love , as December nights advance,
At least has parted with romance;
But St. L — — — t a charm has found
That Spring has to the Winter bound:
Upon his furrow'd cheek a tear
No more has clos'd the passing year.
For this, her gift — a Fairy's boon —
Is my commission from the Moon;
Prophetic is the potent spell —
I am its Wizard, and foretell :
The Regent , by an Act of State,
Shall E****d's trophies reinstate;

TO THE INKSTAND OF THE ANGEL-MOTHER, REPRESENTED BY TWO LOVED SISTERS TO ME .

 D EAR implement of art—combin'd
With spirit of a gifted mind,
When she, whose hand is now at rest,
Thee to its glowing service prest!
I cherish thee—and bless the pen,
Which calls thee into life again.
 Oh! could I emulate her thought!
Could the rich mine's pure vein be caught!
Her Genius only I'd implore,
And court the polish'd Muse no more.
To Nature's fountain ever trust,
And lay the Pedant in the dust.—
 But of all heir-looms , yet enshrin'd

Venus , d'ye say? For beauty not unlike.
But where's, my friend! the wish-inspiring glance?
The ambiguous aspect, lure and rack of love?
Pale, flushing languish? Or the scornful frown,
Ending repentant in a luscious smile?

No. Virtue inspiriting that noble form
Than Venus ever boasted more divine
Sure has on earth descended to reveal
Herself. How lovely! Made thus visible!
That shape how just! In that complection, fair
As innocence unspotted, sweetly glow
The mingled delicacies. In her eye
Sparkles her soul. Her features and her mien

You see this rose,
Its calyx, its petals?
Since fair it shows
Could you forget, all's
Well with your heart to the heart's confusion
And the mind's disjointure. What's conclusion?
Look on her blossom, half white, half pinky.
Would you choose her, the choice yours, think ye?

Or if, depressed

The drowsy glade, all mellowed by the moon,
Lavished its fragrance through the midnight air;
The breeze was suave and languorous with June,
Nature and I waited thy coming there!

I watched the crimson of the roses, strewn
As if to carpet thee love's pathway rare,
And listened to thy signal, that soft tune
Once lulled within the great heart of Schubert!

I heard thy footfall; — joy hath one surprise
Death can not conquer with its cruel power.
The starry scraps of Heaven within thine eyes
Still light my soul in that delicious hour