TO

A FRIEND REMONSTRATING.

AH! chide me not if yet once more
I seek that love long sought in vain ;
Nor blame me if, while I adore,
My vows are answered with disdain.

Yes, I confess 'tis poor, 'tis weak
To droop, to sit with folded arms,

To bear a fever in my cheek,

And sorrow for an ingrate's charms.

Yet let me still my cares retain,

Still droop, with folded arms still sigh; Nor mock me that I still remain

The willing captive of her eye.

For Love, with all his keenest smart
Divine enchantment mingles still;
And, while he fires the conquered heart,
He charms with many a pleasing thrill.

And tortured thus, thus doomed to mourn, I still must feed this cherished grief, And could my peace once more return, My heart would scorn the poor relief.

Then chide me not, if yet once more

I seek that love long sought in vain ; Nor blame me if, while I adore,

My vows are answered with disdain.

TO

A LADY SINGING.

O CAN that heart untouched remain By all Love's pleasure, all Love's pain, When, while thou sing'st another's woes, Thy cheek with deeper crimson glows; When, as thou wak'st the feeling strain, Through every clear translucent vein That strays amid thy forehead's snow The streams of life more swiftly flow; When, mixed with many a passioned sigh, Upon thy lips the accents die;

When sweeter languors, softer dews,

Those twin bright orbs of light suffuse?

And I have seen thy bosom's snow
Throb with the luxury of woe;

And I have marked the' impassioned glance
That speaks the soul's delicious trance;
And felt the poison of thine eye;
And drank the magic of thy sigh.
And, as the sweet infection stole

Through all my veins, and fired my soul,
I wished one timid glance might tell
How deep I felt the subtile spell.

Then, Lady, sing of love again;

And while thou wak'st the feeling strain,
While, mixed with many a passioned sigh,
Upon thy lips the accents die,

And while again thy bosom's snow
Throbs with the luxury of woe,

O pour on me the thrilling glance
That speaks the soul's delicious trance.
And if I dare one look to steal,

That look shall tell thee all I feel;.
And, Lady, then thine altered eye
Shall feed my hopes, or bid them die.

A

FIRST VIEW OF THE WORLD.

Ου μεντοι μα Δία κεκαλλιεπημένες γε λογές (ώσπερ οι τετων) ῥημασι τε και ονομασιν, είδε κεκοσμημένες, αλλ' ακέσασθε ειχη λεγόμενα τοις επιτυχεσιν ονομασια ΠΙΣΤΕΥΩ ΓΑΡ ΔΙΚΑΙΑ ΕΙΝΑΙ 'Α ΛΕΓΩ.

PLATO, APOL. Soc.