IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS.

WHY, let the stingless critic chide
With all that fume of vacant pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Like vapor on a stagnant pool.
Oh! if the song, to feeling true,
Can please th' elect, the sacred few,
Whose souls, by Taste and Naturɔ taught,
Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought—
If some fond feeling maid like thee,
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy,
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme
She languishes in Passion's dream,
"He was, indeed, a tender soul-
'No critic law, no chill control,
"Should ever freeze, by timid art,
"The flowings of so fond a heart!"
Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love!
That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove,
Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild,
And hail'd me Passion's warmest child,-
Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye,
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh;
Oh! let my song, my mem'ry, find
A shrine within the tender mind;
And I will smile when critics chide,
And I will scorn the fume of pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Like vapor round some stagnant pool!

TO JULIA.

Mocx me no more with Love's beguiling dream,
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,

Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit !

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,
1 turn'd 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, ev'ry humbler altar past,

I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

TO A LADY,

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS,
ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY.

WHEN, casting many a look behind,
I leave the friends I cherish here-
Perchance some other friends to find,
But surely finding none so dear-

Haply the little simple page,
Which votive thus I've traced for thee,
May now and then a look engage,
And steal one moment's thought for me

But, oh! in pity let not those

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, Let not the eye that seldom flows With feeling's tear, my song behold.

But must we, must we part indeed? Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia's bosom bleed

To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she too mourn?-Perhaps she may; Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting. But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

I oft have loved that sunny glow

Of gladness in her blue eye gleaningBut can the bosom bleed with wo,

While joy is in the glances beaming?

No, no!-Yet, love, I will not chide;

Although your heart were fond of roving, Nor that, nor all the world beside

Could keep your faithful boy from loving.

You'll soon be distant from his eye,

And, with you, all that's worth possessing. Oh! then it will be sweet to die,

When life has lost its only blessing!

NATURE'S LABELS.

A FRAGMENT.

In vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;
In vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagirite:

And many a sage and learned skull
Has peep'd through windows dark and dull
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor (howsoe'er "learn'd Thebans" doubt)
The inward woman, from without,
Methinks 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pithy, short description write,
On tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles;

And where all men might read-but stay-
As dialectic sages say,

The argument most apt and ample

For common use is the example.

And when that heart shall cease to beat,
And when that breath at length is free,
Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet,
And mingle to eternity!

SONG.

THE wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Is fair-but oh, how fair,

If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love

One leaf to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,

Did gems for dewdrops fall,

One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove
Our emblem well may be;

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love
Must keep its tears for me.

The learned Prue took a pert young thing,
To divert her virgin Muse with,
And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing,
To indite her billet-doux with.
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledged pair
Her only eye, if you'd ask it;

And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair,
For the youngest Love in the basket.
Come buy my Loves, &c. &c.

But one was left, when Susan came,
One worth them all together;
At sight of her dear looks of shame,

He smiled, and pruned his feather.
She wish'd the boy-'twas more than whim-
Her looks, her sighs betray'd it;

But kisses were not enough for him,
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it!
Good-by, my Loves,
Good-by, my Loves,

"Twould make you smile to've seen us
First trade for this

Sweet child of bliss,

And then nurse the boy between us.

THE SALE OF LOVES.

I DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves,
My nest by moonlight laying,
I caught a flight of wanton Loves,
Among the rose-beds playing.
Some just had left their silv'ry shell,
While some were full in feather;
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell,

Were never yet strung together.
Come buy my Loves,
Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses!

They're new and bright,
The cost is light,

For the coin of this isle is kisses.

First Cloris came, with looks sedate,

Their coin on her lips was ready; "I buy," quo.h she, "my Love by weight, "Full grown, if you please, and steady." "Let mine be light," said Fanny, “pray— "Such lasting toys undo one; "A light little Love that will last to-day,"To-morrow I'll sport a new one." Come buy my Loves, Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses!

There's some will keep, Some light and cheap, At from ten to twenty kisses.

TO

THE world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;

I felt not, as I used to feel,

And life grew dark and love was gone.

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No circling arms to draw me near'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death

But when I saw that gentle eye,
Oh! something seem'd to tell me then,
That I was yet too young to die,
And hope and bliss might bloom again.

With every gentle smile that cross'd

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which far had learn'd to roam.

"Twas then indeed so sweet to live,

Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, That, though I mourn, I yet forgive

The ruin they have left behind.