And the only new lore my experience traces, How weary And should she be wroth that my homage pursues her, I will turn and retort on my lovely accuser; Who's to blame, that my heart by your image is haunted It is you, the enchantress-not I, the enchanted Would you have me behave more discreetly, Beauty, look not so killingly sweetly. LINES WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF LA PEROUSE'S VOYAGES. LOVED Voyager! his pages had a zest I track'd his wanderings o'er the watery way, Pursued no rapine-strew'd no wreck with slain; He came not back,-Conjecture's cheek grew pale, Fame traced on Mannicolo's shore at last, Sad bourne of all his toils-with all his band- Of death?—the hope to live in hearts unborn: Fair Science on that Ocean's azure robe twine?) His watery course—a world-encircling line. 1831. |