And flattening its round cheek upon her knee, To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright, VI. Then is she tenfold gladder than before ! But should disease or chance the darling take, THE EXCHANGE.* WE pledged our hearts, my love and I,— I could not tell the reason why, Her father's love she bade me gain; We had exchanged our hearts indeed. *Literary Souvenir, 1826. LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE.* Lady. If Love be dead-Poet. And I aver it! Lady. Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried? Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born : To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb. And on that tomb to read the line :— "Here lies a Love that once seem'd mine, But took a chill, as I divine, And died at length of a decline.” THE SUICIDE'S ARGUMENT, 'RE the birth of my life, if I wish'd it or no, ERE No question was ask'd me—it could not be so ! If the life was the question, a thing sent to try, And to live on be Yes; what can No be? to die. NATURE'S ANSWER. Is't return'd, as 'twas sent? Is't no worse for the wear? Think first, what you are! Call to mind what you were ! I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope. Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair? THE TWO FOUNTS.* STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY ON HER RECOVERY WITH UNBLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM A SEVERE ATTACK OF PAIN. 'TWAS my last waking thought, how it could be† That thou, sweet friend, such anguish shouldst endure ; When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure. Methought he fronted me with peering look In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin Of Pleasure only will to all dispense, * Annual Register, 1827; Bijou, 1828. How can it be-A. R. Choked or turn'd inward, but still issue thence As on the driving cloud the shiny bow, As though the spirits of all lovely flowers, Even so, Eliza! on that face of thine, A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes wing, Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet found Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady gleam *Fostering-1827-28 (probably a misprint).-ED. Till audibly at length I cried, as though In every look a barbed arrow send, On those soft lips let scorn and anger live! * Yes, yes ! that boon, life's richest treat, Say, 'twas but in his own conceit The fancy made him glad! Crown of his cup, and garnish of his dish, The boon, prefigured in his earliest wish, When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy! But e'en the meteor offspring of the brain Faith asks her daily bread, And Fancy must be fed. Now so it chanced-from wet or dry, * Printed in The Amulet, 1828, at the end of a Dialogue in Prose. |