For though the flower's decayed,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betrayed,
The heart can bloom no more!
"Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more!"
O WOMAN! if by simple wile
Thy soul has strayed from honour's track, 'Tis mercy only can beguile,
By gentle ways, the wanderer back.
The stain that on thy virtue lies,
Washed by thy tears, may yet decay; As clouds that sully morning skies
May all be wept in showers away.
Go, go-be innocent, and live
The tongues of men may wound thee sore;
But Heaven in pity can forgive,
And bids thee "go, and sin no more!"
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum.
STILL the question I must parry,
Still a wayward truant prove:
Where I love, I must not marry;
Where I marry, cannot love.
Were she fairest of creation,
With the least presuming mind :
Learned without affectation;
Not deceitful, yet refined;
Wise enough, but never rigid;
Gay, but not too lightly free;
Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid;
Warm, yet satisfied with me:
Were she all this ten times over,
All that Heaven to earth allows,
I should be too much her lover
Ever to become her spouse.
Love will never bear enslaving;
Summer garments suit him best:
Bliss itself is not worth having,
If we're by compulsion blest.
ON HER ASking the author WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS
I'LL ask the sylph who round thee flies,
And in thy breath his pinion dips,
Who suns him in thy lucent eyes,
And faints upon thy sighing lips:
I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep
That used to shade thy looks of light;
And why those eyes their vigil keep,
When other suns are sunk in night.
And I will say " Her angel breast
Has never throbbed with guilty sting;
Her bosom is the sweetest nest
Where Slumber could repose his wing!"
And I will say "Her cheeks of flame,
Which glow like roses in the sun,
Have never felt a blush of shame,
Except for what her eyes have done!
"Then tell me, why, thou child of air!
Does slumber from her eyelids rove?
What is her heart's impassioned care?—
Perhaps, O sylph! perhaps 'tis love!"
GOOD reader! if you e'er have seen,
When Phoebus hastens to his pillow,
The mermaids, with their tresses green,
Dancing upon the western billow:
If you have seen, at twilight dim,
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn
Floats wild along the winding shore:
If you have seen, through mist of eve,
The fairy train their ringlets weave,
Glancing along the spangled green :-
If you have seen all this, and more,
God bless me ! what a deal you've seen!
TO JULIA.
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
WHEN Time was entwining the garland of years
Which to crown my beloved was given,
Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears,
Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven!
And long may this garland be sweet to the eye,
May its verdure for ever be new!
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh,
And Pity shall nurse it with dew!
A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti.-Past Fid.
AND are you then a thing of art,
Seducing all, and loving none;
And have I strove to gain a heart
Which every coxcomb thinks his own?
And do you (like the dotard's fire,
Which, powerless of enjoying any,
Feeds its abortive sick desire,
By trifling impotent with many)
Do you thus seek to flirt a number,
And through a round of danglers run,
Because your heart's insipid slumber
Could never wake to feel for one?
Tell me at once if this be true,
And I shall calm my jealous breast;
Shall learn to join the dangling crew,
And share your simpers with the rest.
But if your heart be not so free,—
Oh! if another share that heart,
Tell not the damning tale to me,
But mingle mercy with your art.
I'd rather think you black as hell
Than find you to be all divine,
And know that heart could love so well,
Yet know that heart would not be mine!
CHLORIS, I swear, by all I ever swore,
That from this hour I shall not love thee more."What! love no more? Oh! why this altered vow?" Because I cannot love thee more-than now!
ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF VOITURE'S KISS.
Mon âme sur mon lèvre étoit lors tout entière,
Pour savourer le miel qui sur la vôtre étoit ;
Mais en me retirant, elle resta derrière,
Tant de ce doux plaisir l'amorce l'arrestoit.-Voit
How heavenly was the poet's doom
To breathe his spirit through a kiss ;
And lose within so sweet a tomb
The trembling messenger of bliss!
And ah! his soul returned to feel
That it again could ravished be;
For, in the kiss that thou didst steal,
His life and soul have fled to thee!
THY song has taught my heart to feel
Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal
When listening to the spheres above!
When, tired of life and misery,
I wish to sigh my latest breath,
O Emma! I will fly to thee,
And thou shalt sing me into death!
And if along thy lip and cheek
That smile of heavenly softness play,
Which-ah! forgive a mind that's weak-
So oft has stolen my mind away;
Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky,
That comes to charm me into bliss:
I'll gaze and die-Who would not die,
If death were half so sweet as this?
I THOUGHT this heart consuming lay
On Cupid's burning shrine :
I thought he stole thy heart away,
And placed it near to mine.
I saw thy heart begin to melt,
Like ice before the sun;
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And mingled into one!
WRITTEN IN A COMMON-PLACE BOOK,
CALLED THE BOOK OF FOLLIES;"
In which every one that opened it should contribute something.
TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES.
THIS tribute's from a wretched elf,
Who hails thee, emblem of himself!
The book of life, which I have traced,
Has been, like thee, a motley waste
Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er,
One folly bringing hundreds more.
Some have indeed been writ so neat,
In characters so fair, so sweet,
That those who judge not too severely
Have said they loved such follies dearly!
Yet still, O book! the allusion stands;
For these were penned by female hands:
The rest,-alas! I own the truth,-
Have all been scribbled so uncouth
That Prudence, with a withering look,
Disdainful flings away the book.
Like thine, its pages here and there
Have oft been stained with blots of care;
And sometimes hours of peace, I own,
Upon some fairer leaves have shown
White as the snowings of that heaven
By which those hours of peace were given.
But now no longer-such, oh! such
The blast of Disappointment's touch!--
No longer now those hours appear;
Each leaf is sullied by a tear :
Blank, blank, is every page with care,
Not e'en a folly brightens there.
Will they yet brighten ?-Never, never!
Then shut the book, O God! for ever!
ON beds of snow the moonbeam slept,
And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept-
Sweet maid! it was her Lindor's tomb
A warm tear gushed, the wintry air
Congealed it as it flowed away:
All night it lay an ice-drop there,
At morn it glittered in the ray!
An angel, wandering from her sphere,
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem
To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear,
And hung it on her diadem!
TO JULIA, WEEPING.
OH! if your tears are given to care,
If real woe disturbs your peace,
Come to my bosom, weeping fair!
And I will bid your weeping cease,
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