TRUE LOVE.

I.

'Tis sweet on Truth's high vantage-ground to stand And gaze on men below, in mazes lost Of error; sweet it is to break the wand Of juggling Comus, battling 'gainst a host Of frightful passions; or when tempest-tost To reach, by unexpected chance, the port; Sweet 'tis to have a Claude, though much it cost– Sweet to the honest heart's the rural sport; Sweetest is woman's love when 'tis of good report.

II.

To share each other's joys, to live indeed
In our own little world of happiness,
With interchange of thought as time may need
To brighten fancy; make our troubles less;
To give and to return the kind caress;
To visit distant realms, not both unknown;

To be each other's helpmates in distress;

To laugh through mutual aid at fortune's frown;

Such were a bliss, indeed, which few can call their own.

EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES

WRITTEN AT

THE spoils of nations here collected seem
To realize an Eastern poet's dream :
Gold, gems, and ivory with rich inlay,
Urns, vases, books, magnificently gay,
Embroider'd couches, golden lamps, and all
That pride would choose for beauty's festival.
With intermingling hues fatigue the sight,
And dazzle with their luxury of light."*
Nursed in the sunshine, orange-trees unfold
Their leaves of emerald, and their fruit of gold;

* See Gray's Epistle to Bentley, in Mason's edition of his works.

"As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze

The ineaner gems, that singly charm the sight,

Together dart their intermingling rays

And dazzle with a luxury of light!"

Exotics fling their exquisite perfume

From grand conservatories through the room
Where sits the fair Sultana of the place,
And to Zenobia's wealth adds Hebe's grace.
The glorious day-god cheers (what could he less?)
With vivid rays this seat of loveliness.

April 17, 1820.

PSEUDO-PATRIOTISM.

How few there are who well deserve
The Patriot's laurel-crown;
Who never from their duty swerve,
Or lose their high renown!

A traitor's name doth stain the fame Of Wallenstein the brave;

The honours which he could not claim Adorn his rival's grave.*

Rienzi, thou didst promise well,
But hast betray'd thy trust;

Yes! when the traitor-tribune fell
His death was surely just.

*The great Gustavus Adolphus.

TO BERNARD BARTON.

UNLIKE indeed the meteor light
That dazzles to betray,

Thou art a star to bless our sight,
And lead us on our way.

Mild are the breathings of thy lyre,

Thou gentle bard, yet strong

Thy verse, whene'er thy "muse of fire” To heaven directs her song.

Thou hast not drunk, as others have,
From pleasure's poisoned chalice;
Nor dost thou, misanthropic, rave
Against imagined malice.

How stainless thy poetic wreath!

How beautiful its hue!

Unsullied by the world's gross breath,

It looks for ever new.