BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

THE brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts, without caring who feels 'em;

But the soft eye of blue, Though it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.

Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!
The soft eye of blue,

Though it scatter wounds too, Es much better pleased when it heals 'em, dear Fanny !

The black eye may say,
'Come and worship my ray,-

By adoring, perhaps you may move

me!'

But the blue eye, half hid,
Says, from under its lid,

'I love, and I'm yours if you love me!'
Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!
The blue eye, half hid,
Says, from under its lid,

I love, and am yours if you love me!' dear Fanny!

Then tell me, oh! why,

In that lovely eye,

Not a charm of its tint I discover; Or why should you wear

The only blue pair

That ever said 'No' to a lover?

Dear Fanny! dear Fanny!
Oh! why should you wear
The only blue pair

That ever said No' to a lover, dear
Fanny ?

CEASE, OH CEASE TO TEMPT.

CEASE, oh cease to tempt
My tender heart to love!

It never, never can

So wild a flame approve.
All its joys and pains
To others I resign;
But be the vacant heart,

The careless bosom mine.
Then cease, oh cease to tempt
My tender heart to love!
It never, never can

So wild a flame approve.

Say, oh say no more

That lovers' pains are sweet! I never, never can

Believe the fond deceit. Weeping day and night, Consuming life in sighs,This is the lover's lot,

And this I ne'er could prize. Then say, oh say no more

That lovers' pains are sweet! I never, never can

Believe the fond deceit.

Filled with joys too sweet to lastJoys that, like your star-light tender, While they shone no shadow cast; Though all other happy hours

From my fading memory fly,
Of that star-light, of those bowers,
Not a beam, a leaf, shall die!

OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.

OUR first young love resembles

That short but brilliant ray, Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles, Through April's earliest day. No, no-all life before us; Howe'er its lights may play, Can shed no lustre o'er us Like that first April ray.

Our summer sun may squander

A blaze serener, grander,

Our autumn beam may, like a dream
Of heaven, die calm away:
But no-let life before us

Bring all the light it may,
"Twill shed no lustre o'er us
Like that first trembling ray.

shore,

While Hope's sweet voice is heard in every blast,

Still whisp'ring on, that, when some years are o'er,

One bright reward shall crown my toil at last,

Thy smile alone, thy smile alone.

Oh! place beside the transport of that hour

All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright,

Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power,

Then ask where first thy lover's choice would light?

On thee alone, on thee alone.

LOVE'S VICTORY.

SING to Love-for, oh, 'twas he

Who won the glorious day; Strew the wreaths of victory

Along the conq'ror's way. Yoke the Muses to his car,

Let them sing each trophy won; While his mother's joyous star Shall light the triumph on.

Hail to Love, to mighty Love,

Let spirits sing around; While the hill, the dale, and grove, With "mighty Love" resound; Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal

Amid the sounds thus echoed o'er, 'Twill but teach the god to feel

His victories the more.

See his wings, like amethyst

Of sunny Ind their hue; Bright as when, by Psyche kist, They trembled through and through. Flowers spring beneath his feet;

Angel forms beside him run; While unnumbered lips repeat "Love's victory is won!'

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c.

SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.1

"I've been, oh, sweet daughter,

To fountain and sea,

To seek in their water

Some bright gem for thee.
Where diamonds were sleeping,
Their sparkle I sought,
Where crystal was weeping,
Its tears I have caught.
"The sea-nymph I've courted
In rich coral halls ;

With Naiads have sported
By bright waterfalls.

But sportive or tender,

Still sought I around,

That gem, with whose splendour
Thou yet shalt be crowned.

When, bess'd by heaven, the Cross shall sweep

The Crescent from the Egean deep, And your brave warriors hastening back,

Will bring such glories in their track,
As shall, for many an age to come,
Shed light around their name and
home.

There is a Fount on Zia's isle,
Round which in soft luxuriance, smile
All the sweet flowers, of every kind,
On which the sun of Greece looks
down,

Pleas'd as a lover on the crown
His mistress for her brow hath twin'd,
When he beholds each floweret there,
Himself had wish'd her most to wear;
Here bloom'd the laurel-rose,1 whose
wreath

Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines.

And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe

Their odours into Zante's wines :The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, To grace their floral diadems, The lovely maids of Patmos weave :3And that fair plant, whose tangled

stems

Shine like a Nereïd's hair, spread, Dishevell'd o'er her azure bed;

when

All these bright children of the clime, (Each at its own most genial time, The summer, or the year's sweet prime,)

Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn

The Valley, where that Fount is born:
While round, to grace its cradle green,
Groups of Velani oaks are seen,
Towering on every verdant height--
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light,
Like Genii, set to watch the birth
Of some enchanted child of earth-

Fair oaks, that over Zia's vales,

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd; While Commerce, from her thousand sails,

Scatters their acorns through the world !5

'Twas here--as soon

as prayer and sleep (Those truest friends to all who weep) Had lighten'd every heart, and made Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade"Twas here, in this secluded spot,

Amid whose breathings calm aud sweet

Grief might be sooth'd, if not forgot,

The Zian nymphs resolv'd to meet Each evening now, by the same light That saw their farewell tears that night;

And try, if sound of lute and song,

If wandering 'mid the moonlight. flowers

In various talk, could charm along

With lighter step, the lingering hours, Till tidings of that Bark should come, Or Victory waft their warriors home! When first they met-the wonted smile "Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see Of greeting having beam'd awhileThe sadness that came suddenly O'er their young brows, when they look'd round

Upon that bright, enchanted ground; And thought, how many a time, with those

Who now were gone to the rude wars,

They there had met, at evening's close, And danced till morn outshone the stars!

But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse

Of sorrow o'er such youthful breastsThe breath from her own blushing lips, That on the maiden's mirror rests,

Cuscuta europea. From the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereïds.”— Walpole's Turkey.

5 The produce of the island in these acorns alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quin