Literary leaves, or, Prose and verse

But seldom beams,—I do not fear
Fair LADY! thine indulgent ear;
For promptly at thy soft command—
And who could check his heart or hand
At beauty's call?--I've framed a lay
Whose sound perchance some future day
May bid thee hail with kind regard
The memory of thy friend and bard.

But turning to my task and theme,
What rays of glory round me stream!
The dazzling gems these leaves enclose-
The various spells that genius throws
On every page-the flowerets rare
Transplanted in this bright parterre-
Strike dumb the faint descriptive Muse,
As sun-beams mock the painter's hues ;-
Nor need these simple verses tell

The hand of Taste hath chosen well.