LOVE.

LOVE NOT OF THIS EARTH.

Oh, Love! no inhabitant of earth thou art;
An unseen spirit, we believe in thee ;
A faith, whose martyrs are the broken heart,—
But never eye hath seen, or e'er shall see,
Thy unimagined form as it should be!

The mind hath made thee as it peoples heaven,
Ever with its own desiring fantasy;

And to a thought such shape and substance given,
As haunts the unquench'd soul, parch'd, wearied,
wrung, and riven !

LOVE DEALS IN REPETITIONS.

Byron.

Love fondly dwells on repetitions.
His songs and praises all alike we find.
Kind is my Love to-day,-to-morrow kind;
Still constant in a wond'rous excellence;
Therefore, loves verse, to constancy confin'd.
One thing expressing leaves out difference;
Fair, kind, and true, in all his argument ;-
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is Love's invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wond'rous scope affords.

Shakspeare.

L

LOVE IMMORTAL.

They sin, who tell us Love can die :
With life all other passions fly,-
All others are but vanity.

In heaven Ambition cannot dwell,

Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell.
Earthly those passions of the earth,—
They perish where they have their birth.
But Love is indestructible;

Its holy flame for ever burneth.

From heaven it came,-to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest;

At times receiv'd,-at times oppress'd.

It here is tried and purified,·

Then hath, in heaven, its purest rest.

Southey.

LINES

On a young Lady who frequented the British Museum Gardens, retiring to the Country.

BY PETER PINDAR.

The shepherds, alas! have prevail'd
O'er the beaux of the British Museum;
What a pity they should not have fail'd!
The sheep-shearing rogues, I could flea 'em.

Yet this is not all, let me say,
Another misfortune I find;

For she bore all the Graces away,

And the Loves would not tarry behind.

GALLANTRY OF POTEMKIN.

who

There are a certain description of persons, may be said always to carry their wits about them; like one going a journey, providing himself with various coins, in order to answer with promptitude, and without loss or difficulty, the different claims made on his purse, during his progress. In this class, we may place Prince Potemkin. On the day of the Revolution in Russia, in the year 1762, which deposed Peter III. and secured to his wife, Catherine II., the imperial crown, she mounted on horseback, habited in the uniform of the Guards, which was hastily procured for the occasion, and rode past the ranks, displaying that confidence and attention, so necessary at that time, and so fascinating to all. The hat, with which she had been so hastily supplied, happened to be without the plume worn by the Guards; and the Empress, unwilling to lose a moment, at a time so critical, proceeded without it. Potemkin, then a young ensign, soon observed it, and immediately, with enthusiasm and respect, rode

up to offer her his. The horse on which he was mounted, being accustomed to form into the squadron, was some time before he could be brought to quit the side of that of her majesty, and she could not avoid remarking the grace and agility displayed by him on the occasion; and although it produced no very prominent results, at the time, it ultimately led the way to her affection, and confirmed his fortune. He died October 15th, 1791, laden with honours and appointments; the possessor of immense riches, in the whole, supposed to amount, at least, to a million.

THE CONJURER.

I was not aware, till within these few days,
My dear Nancy knew legerdemain ;
But fully convinced of the fact, by her ways,
She's a conjurer, I will maintain.

For, once, I remember, with cups and with balls,
I witness'd a juggler's skill;

When the vanishing toys left their cups at his calls,
And chang'd places, just at his will.

Now you have this power,-but why, my love, start? I engage the assertion to prove ;

For your beauty, I'm sure, has robb'd me of my heart, · By the presto pass mighty of love.

Ah, then, lovely juggler! take pity, and deign,
(As I cannot this torture endure,)

By a new trick, to lighten my heart of its pain,
To give my torn bosom its cure.

And seeing I cannot, without a heart, rest,
As your past steps you cannot retrace,

By giving me back that which once I possess'd,-
Oh! give me your own in its place.

MADRIGAL.

TRANSLATED FROM CAMOENS BY LORD STRANGFORD,

The heart that warm'd my guileless breast
Some wanton hand had thence convey'd,
But Love, who saw his bard distress'd,

In pity thus the thief betray'd-
""Tis she who owns the fairest mien
"And sweetest eyes that e'er were seen!"

And sure if love be in the right,

(And was love ever in the wrong ?)

To thee, my first and sole delight,
That simple heart must now belong-
-Because thou hast the fairest mien
And sweetest eyes that e'er were seen!