So, health and love to all your mansion!

Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in,
The flow of heart, the soul's expansion,

Mirth and song your board illumine!
Fare you well-remember too,

When

cups are flowing to the brim, That here is one who drinks to you, And oh !—as warmly drink to him.

POSTSCRIPT.

WHEN next you see the black-ey'd CATY,
The loving, languid girl of Hayti,
Whose finger so expertly plays

Amid the ribbon's silken maze,

Just like Aurora, when she ties

A rainbow round the morning skies!

"Among the West-Indian French at Norfolk, there are some very interesting Saint-Domingo girls, who in the day sell millinery, &c. and at night assemble in little cotilion parties, where they dance away the remembrance of their unfortunate country, and forget the miseries which "Les amis des noirs" brought upon them.

Say, that I hope, when winter's o'er, On Norfolk's bank again to rove, And then, shall search the ribbon-store For some of CATY'S softest love.

I should not like the gloss were past,
Yet want it not entirely new;
But bright and strong enough to last
About-suppose a week or two.
However frail, however light,

'Twill do, at least, to wear at night: And so you'll tell our black-ey'd CATY, The loving, languid girl of Hayti!

K

THE WEDDING RING.

ΤΟ

1801.

No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring;
Oh! think, how many a future year,
Of placid smile and downy wing,
May sleep within its holy sphere!

Do not disturb their tranquil dream,
Though love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd,

Yet heav'n will send a soothing beam,
To bless the bond itself hath form'd.

But then, that eye, that burning eye!
Oh! it doth ask, with magic power,
If heaven can ever bless the tie,

Where love inwreathes no genial flower!

Away, away, bewildering look!
Or all the boast of virtue's o'er;
Go-hie thee to the sage's book,
And learn from him to feel no more!

I cannot warn thee; every touch,
That brings my pulses close to thine,
Tells me I want thy aid as much,

Oh! quite as much, as thou dost mine!

Yet stay, dear love-one effort yet—
A moment turn those eyes away,
And let me, if I can, forget

The light that leads my soul astray!

Thou say'st, that we were born to meet,
That our hearts bear one common seal,

Oh Lady! think, how man's deceit

Can seem to sigh and feign to feel !

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought,
Like day-beams through the morning air,

Hath gradual stole, and I have caught
The feeling ere it kindled there :

The sympathy I then betray'd,
Perhaps was but the child of art ;

The guile of one, who long hath play'd
With all these wily nets of heart.

Oh! thou hast not my virgin vow ; Though few the years I yet have told, Canst thou believe I live till now,

With loveless heart or senses cold?

No-many a throb of bliss and pain,

many a maid my soul hath prov'd;

For many a

With some I wanton'd wild and vain,

While some I truly, dearly lov'd!

The cheek to thine I fondly lay,
To theirs hath been as fondly laid;
The words to thee I warmly say,

To them have been as warmly said.

Then, scorn at once a languid heart,

Which long hath lost its early spring; Think of the pure, bright soul thou art,

And-keep the ring, oh! keep the ring.