SONNET XVI.

THE THREE GIFTS.

When I was born, there was a gentle Fay
Flitting through air, and, as she gaily past,
She read the stars wherein my doom was cast,
For lack of blither pastime on her way.

She saw that mine should be a darkling day,

Sacred to evil Fortune, first and last;

That my frail bark should drift before the blast, Tracked by some sateless imp that gapes for prey.

O'er

my first cradle-dream she breathed a spell:

"Three gifts I give thee, luckless one," she said;
"Three treasures of true worth shall with thee dwell:

"With all a poet's joy thy heart shall swell,
"With music and the painter's blisses wed."
Good Fay, thou hast enriched me, passing well!

TO VARIA.

Miseri quibus

Intentata nites.

HORACE.

Still somewhat fair thou seemest to me:

But oh! how much I pity thee

For wanting such a beauty rare

As once I fondly deemed was thine,
When, drunk with Fancy's potent wine,

I thought thy heart and soul were fair.

Thus fair, and true, and dear, and good,
Are terms with doubtful worth endued:
Like Janus, each can look two ways;

Can smile on this, on that can frown.

Thus, till thy double face is shown,

Thy cheated lovers waste their days.

And thus the mind's bright power doth make

The idol Time shall kindly break;

And Love will learn, and blush to know,

The image it had so enshrined

Was but a thing of clay, and bow

No more, with such devotion blind.