Lifting alike thy head
Of placid beauty, feminine yet free,
Whether with foam or pictured azure spread

The waters be.

What is like thee, fair flower, The gentle and the firm ; thus bearing up To the blue sky that alabaster cup,

As to the shower?

Oh! Love is most like thee,
The Love of Woman; quivering to the blast
Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast,

'Midst Life's dark sea.

And Faith-oh! is not Faith Like thee, too, Lily? springing into light, Still buoyantly, above the billows' might,

Through the storm's breath?

Yes, link'd with such high thoughts,
Flower, let thine image in my bosom lie!
Till something there of its own purity

And peace be wrought:

Something yet more divine Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed Forth from thy breast upon the river's bed, As from a shrine.


EPITAPH ON MISS DRUMMOND, IN THE CHURCH OF BROADSWORTH, YORKSHIRE. HERE sleeps what once was beauty, once was grace;

Grace, that with tenderness and sense combined To form that harmony of soul and face,

Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind.

Such was the maid, that, in the morn of youth,

In virgin innocence, in nature's pride, Bless’d with each art that owes its charms to truth,

Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died. He weeps ; 0 venerate the holy tear!

Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God.



WHETHER Stella's eyes are found
Fix'd on earth or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
If she sigh at others' woe,
If her easy air express
Conscious worth or soft distress,
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd
Pendent gems, and rich brocade;
If her chints with less expense
Flows in easy negligence;
Still she lights the conscious flame,
Still her charms appear the same:
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
If she sit, or if she move,
Still we love, and still approve.
Vain the casual, transient glance,
Which alone can please by chance,
Beauty which depends on art,
Changing with the changing heart,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendent gems and rich brocade.

I those charms alone can prize
Which from constant nature rise,
Which nor circumstance nor dress
E'er can make or more or less.



COME take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's ball, and the Grasshopper's feast.
The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon’d the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.

So said little Robert, and, pacing along,
His merry companions came forth in a throng,
And on the smooth grass, by the side of a wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood,

Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
For an evening's amusement together repair.
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back.

And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.
And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down,
And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and brown;

Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring, But they promised that evening to lay by their sting. And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole, And brought to the feast his blind brother, the Mole.

And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell,
Came from a great distance, the length of an ell.
A mushroom their table, and on it was laid
A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made

The viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought her honey to crown the repast.
Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a corner look'd up to the skies.

And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversions to see,
Mounted high over-head, and look'd down from a tree.
Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight line.

From one branch to another, his cobwebs he slung,
Then quick as an arrow he darted along.
But, just in the middle-Oh! shocking to tell,-
From his rope, in an instant, poor harlequin fell.
Yet he touch'd not the ground, but with talons out-

Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread.
Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring,
Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing;
He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight,
Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of the night.
With step so majestic the Snail did advance,
And promised the gazers a minuet to dance.
But they all laugh'd so loud that he pull'd in his head,
And went in his own little chamber to bed.
Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with a

Then home let us hasten, while yet we can see,
For no Watchman is waiting for you and for me.
So said little Robert, and, pacing along,
His merry companions return'd in a throng.



At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts are

barr'd, At twilight, at the Vega gate, there is a trampling

heard ; There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound

of woe. “What tower is fall'n, what star is set, what chief

come these bewailing ?” “ A tower is fall’n, a star is set. Alas! alas, for Celin!" Three times they knock, three times they cry, and

wide the doors they throw: Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go: In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the

hollow porch, Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and

flaming torch; Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is

wailing, For all have heard the misery. “Alas! alas, for Celin!" Him, yesterday, a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood, 'Twas at the solemn jousting; around the nobles

stood; The nobles of the land were there, and the ladies

bright and fair Look'd from their latticed windows, the haughty sight

to share ; But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are be

wailing, For he was Granada's darling knight. “Alas! alas,

for Celin!”

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to


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