Like tall and gloomy forms that pass
Before the wizard's midnight glass;

And as I view'd the hurrying pace

With which he ran his turbid race,

Rushing, alike untir'd and wild

Through shades that frown'd and flowers that smil'd,

Flying by every green recess

That woo'd him to its calm caress,

Yet, sometimes turning with the wind,

As if to leave one look behind!

Oh! I have thought, and thinking sigh'd-
How like to thee, thou restless tide!
May be the lot, the life of him,
Who roams along thy water's brim !
Through what alternate shades of woe,
And flowers of joy my path may go!
How many an humble, still retreat
May rise to court my weary feet,
While still pursuing, still unblest,
I wander on, nor dare to rest!
But, urgent as the doom that calls
Thy water to its destin'd falls,
I see the world's bewildering force
Hurry my heart's devoted course

From lapse to lapse, till life be done, And the lost current cease to run!

Oh may my falls be bright as thine! May heaven's forgiving rainbow shine Upon the mist that circles me,

As soft, as now it hangs o'er thee!

ΤΟ

I

TEN wish that thou wert dead,

OFTEN

And I beside thee calmly sleeping; Since love is o'er and passion fled,

And life has nothing worth our keeping!

No-common souls may bear decline

Of all, that throbb'd them once so high; But hearts, that beat like thine and mine, Must still love on-love on or die!

'Tis true, our early joy was such,

That nature could not bear the excess! It was too much-for life too muchThough life be all a blank with less!

To see that eye, so cold, so still,

Which once, oh God! could melt in bliss

No, no, I cannot bear the chill;

Hate, burning hate were heaven to this!

CLORIS AND FANNY.

CLORIS! if I were Persia's king,

I'd make my graceful queen of thee; While FANNY, wild and artless thing, Should but thy humble handmaid be.

There is but one objection in it—
That, verily, I'm much afraid
I should, in some unlucky minute,

Forsake the mistress for the maid!

Upon whose starry plain they lay,
Like a young blossom on our meads of gold,
Shed from a vernal thorn

Amid the liquid sparkles of the morn!
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade,
The myrtled votaries of the queen behold
An image of their rosy idol, laid
Upon a diamond shrine!

The wanton wind,

Which had pursued the flying fair,
And sweetly twin'd

Its spirit with the breathing rings
Of her ambrosial hair,

Soar'd as she fell, and on its ruffling wings,
(Oh wanton wind!)

Wafted the robe, whose sacred flow
Shadow'd her kindling charms of snow,

Pure, as an Eleusinian veil

pocula Jovi administrans, perque lubricum minus cauté incedens, cecidisset, revolutisque vestibus"-in short, she fell in a very awkward manner, and though (as the Encyclopédistes think) it would have amused Jove at any other time, yet, as he happened to be out of temper on that day, the poor girl was dismissed from her employment.

F F