SONG.
Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me,

Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;
I'll give up the world, Ó Bessy ! for thee,

I can never meet any that's dearer !
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,

That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny

That ours is the sweetest of any?
When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet,

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-
Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet ? -

No, rather 'twas Heaven that did it!
So innocent, love, is the pleasure we sip,

So little of guilt is there in it,
That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip,

And I'd kiss them away in a minute !
Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to his shed,

From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed

As e'er on the couch of the wisest !
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,

And thou, pretty innocent, fearest,
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven,

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest !
And oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love,

Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,

And Death be disarmed of his terrors !
And each to the other embracing will say,

“ Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven !”
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,

And a kiss be our passport to heaven !

SONG.
THINK on that look of humid ray

Which for a moment mixed with mine,
And for that moment seemed to say,

“I dare not, or I would be thine!”
Think, think on every smile and glance,

On all thou hast to charm and move,
And then forgive my bosom's trance,

And tell me 'tis not sin to love!
On ! not to love thee were the sin;

For sure if Heaven's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destined still to win,

As I was destined to be won!

SONG.
WHERE is the nymph whose azure eye

Can shine through rapture's tear!
The sun has sunk, the moon is high,

And yet she comes not here!
Was that her footstep on the hill —

Her voice upon the gale ?-
No, 'twas the wind, and all is still,

O maid of Marlivale!
Come to me, love, I've wandered far,

'Tis past the promised hour;
Come to me, love, the twilight star

Shall guide thee to my bower.

SONG.
WHEN Time, who steals our years away,

Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.
Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower

Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour

When thou alone wert fair!
Then talk no more of future gloom;

Our joys shall always last;
For hope shall brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past !
Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,

I drink to Love and thee: Thou never canst decay in soul,

Thou'lt still be young for me. And as thy lips the tear-drop chase

Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace

Which sorrow leaves behind!
Then fill the bowl-away with gloom!

Our joys shall always last ;
For hope shall brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past !
But mark, at thought of future years

When love shall lose its soul,
My Chloe drops her timid tears,

They mingle with my bowl!

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,

Our loving life shall fleet ;
Though tears may sometimes mingle there,

The draught will still be sweet!
Then fill the bowl-away with gloom !

Our joys shall always last ;
For hope will brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past !

THE SHRINE.

TO

My fates had destined me to rove
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lured my pious steps to stay;.
For, if the saint was young and fair
I turned and sung my vespers there.
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require :
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But trust me, all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, every humbler altar past,
I now have reached THE SHRINE at last!

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls

Has long been remembered with awe and dismay! For years not a sunbeam had played in its halls,

And it seemed as shut out from the regions of day; Though the valleys were brightened by many a beam,

Yet none could the woods of the castle illume ; And the lightning, which flashed on the neighbouring stream,

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! “Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse?”

Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave: “It can never dispel,” said the wizard of verse,

“Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!" And who was the bright star of chivalry then ?

Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age? For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page.

For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,

For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,

It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn! Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever ?

Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave, That darkness should cover the castle for ever,

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! She flew to the wizard—“And tell me, oh tell!

Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?"“Yes, yes,—when a spirit shall toll the great bell

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!" Twice, thrice he repeated, "Your Reuben shall rise!”

And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain ; She wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes,

And she hoped she might yet see her hero again! Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose; To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,

In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.“
How strangely the order of destiny falls ! -

Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,

And the castle of Willumberg basked in the ray!
All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night,

In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,

And she heard but the breathings of night in the air, Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there. And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

And she looked at the liglit of the moon in the stream, She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glittered high in the beam. And now the third night was begemming the sky,

Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,

When, — hark !-'twas the bell that came deep in the wind ! She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,

A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decayed,

And his helmet of silver was washed by the tide.

Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold ?

Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam; 'Twas Reuben, but ah! he was deathly and cold,

And fleeted away like the spell of a dream! Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought

From the bank to embrace him, but never, ah! never! Then springing beneath, at a billow she caught,

And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever!

THE RING.

A TALE.

'bonnulus ille viri.-Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15
¿He happy day at length arrived

When Rupert was to wed
The fairest maid in Saxony,

And take her to his bed.
As soon as morn was in the sky,

The feast and sports began;
The men admired the happy maid,

The maids the happy man.
in many a sweet device of mirth

The day was passed along ;
And some the featly dance amused,

And some the dulcet song.
The younger maids with Isabel

Disported through the bowers,
And decked her robe, and crowned her head

With motley bridal flowers,
The matrons all in rich attire,

Within the castle walls,
Sat listening to the choral strains

That echoed through the halls.
Young Rupert and his friends repaired

Unto a spacious court,
To strike the bounding tennis-ball

In feat and manly sport.
The bridegroom on his finger had

The wedding-ring so bright
Which was to grace the lily hand

Of Isabel that night.
And fearing he might break the gem,

Or lose it in the play,
He looked around the court, to see

Where he the ring might lay.