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But when time has swelled the grapes to a richer | Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, style of shapes,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those : And the sun has lent warmth to their blushes, Favors to none, to all she smiles extends : Then to cheer us and to gladden, to enchant us Oft she rejects, but never once offends. and to madden,
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, Is the ripe ruddy glory that rushes.
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults te
If to her share some female errors fall, O, 't is then, -- will my simile serve ye?
Look on her face, and you ’ll forget them all. Should a damsel fair repine, though neglected like
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.
She was a phantom of delight
If it be true that any beauteous thing,
of J. E. TAYLOR.
THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE.
The might of one fair face sublimes my love,
Forgive me if I cannot turn away
FROM THE “RAPE OF THE LOCK."
MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation
of J. E. TAYLOR.
year stood at its equinox, And bluff the North was blowing, A bleat of lambs came from the flocks,
Green hardy things were growing ; I met a maid with shining locks
Where milky kine were lowing.
She wore a kerchief on her neck,
Her bare arm showed its dimple, Her apron spread without a speck,
Her air was frank and simple.
To run down by the early train,
Whirl down with shriek and whistle, And feel the bluff north blow again,
And mark the sprouting thistle
Its green and tender bristle ;
Crisp primrose-leaves and others,
And butt their patient mothers. Alas! one point in all my plan
My serious thoughts demur to : Seven years have passed for maid and man,
Seven years have passed for her too.
Not rosy or too rosy ;
Some husband keeps her cosey,
Good by, my wayside posy!
She milked into a wooden pail,
And sang a country ditty, An innocent fond lovers' tale,
That was not wise nor witty, Pathetically rustical,
Too pointless for the city.
CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTL
She kept in time without a beat,
As true as church-bell ringers, Unless she tapped time with her feet,
Or squeezed it with her fingers ; Her clear, unstudied notes were sweet
As many a practised singer's.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
AT THE CHURCH GATE.
Such is her beauty as no arts
Have enriched with borrowed grace. Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood, – She is noblest being good. Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant ; Nor speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent. Of herself survey she takes, But 'tween men no difference makes. She obeys with speedy will Her grave pa
nts' wise commands; And so innocent, that ill
She nor acts, nor understands.
Where oft virt'le splits her mast;
Where her fame may anchor cast. Virtne safely cannot sit Where vice is enthroned for wit. She holds that day's pleasure best
Where sin waits not on delight; Without mask, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winter's night. O'er that darkness whence is thrust Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. She her throne makes reason climb,
While wild passions captive lie; And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly; All her vows religious be, And she vows her love to me.
ALTHOUGH I enter not,
Ofttimes I hover ;
Expectant of her. The minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout,
And noise and humming; They've hushed the minster bell ; The organ 'gins to swell ;
She's coming, coming! My lady comes at last, Timid and stepping fast,
And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes,
she's here, she's past !
Meekly and duly ;
With thoughts unruly.
Lingering a minute,
Angels within it.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
VERSES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.
Do you ask what the birds say ? The sparrow,
the dove, The linnet, and thrush say “I love, and I love!" In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong; What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud
song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny
warm weather, And singing and loving-all come back together. But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he, “I love my Love, and my Love loves me.'
GO, LOVELY ROSE.
Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Guard well thy soul, beloved ;
Truth, dwelling there,
Her image rare.
That thou art she;
Fairer than thee.
A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways
sake him ;
A little better she would surely make him. Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon,
And very far from angel yet, I trow. Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human ; Yet she's more lovable as simple woman
Than any one diviner that I know. Therefore I wish that she may safely keep
This womanhede, and change not, only grow; From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, And in perennial blessedness, still reap On every hand of that which she doth sow.
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
BLACK AND BLUE EYES.
The brilliant black eye
May in triumph let fly
But the soft eye of blue,
Though it scatter wounds too,
Dear Fanny !
“Come and worship my ray ;
But the blue eye, half hid,
Says, from under its lid,
Dear Fanny !
In that lovely blue eye,
Or why should you wear
The only blue pair
Dear Fanny !
In vain you strive with all your art,
i PRITHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART.
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow ;
I never loved but you.
For you I wear the blue ;
0, tell me how to woo thee ! For thy dear sake nae care I 'll take, Though ne'er another trow me.
GRAHAM OF GARTMORE.
I PRITHEE send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine ;
Why then shouldst thou have mine!
Yet, now I think on't, let it lie;
To find it were in vain ; For thou 'st a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.
MY LOVE IN HER ATTIRE.