TO HARRIET B.

"Lady, as you are mine, 1 am yours;

I give away myself for you,

And doat upon the exchange."

"Look what will serve is fit-say once thou lov'st,
And I will suit thee with the remedy."

You ask me-How true to my vow will I prove-
How long breathe the often-told accents of love?
You urge me, dear girl, for an answer-and I
On the wings of obedience now haste to reply.

When the beams cease to shine of the radiant sunWhen the sand in Time's glass discontinues to runWhen the moon shall neglect wandering lovers to cheer, I'll then break the vows I have made to my dear.

When roses no longer in summer shall blow-
When the sea is forgetful to ebb and to flow-

Till changes so sudden as these be decreed,

I'll love with a fervour thou can'st not exceed.

When the glad smile of beauty with coldness I greet-
When a kiss (tho' in paper) shall fail to be sweet—
When the tear of fond woman unheeded I view,
Then, then, dearest Harriet, I'll false be to you..

So long as the needle possesses the charm

The sailor to guard against shipwreck and storm—
So long will my passion be ardent and pure—
So long wilt thou shine as my bright Cynosure.

And if you'll halve a heart that I know is sincere,
I've got a camp-bed in return you shall share,
And once 66

sleeping partners" in chattels like these,
”* whensoever you please.

"I, M take thee N

* Vide marriage ceremony.

COMME IL FAUT

"Oh, I love an easie woman, there's such ado to crack a thick-shell'd mistress; we break our teeth, and find no kernel."

"Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd,

For oft they're caneell'd, tho' in convents made."

I LEAVE you then," young Colin said,
In anger to his Chloe ;

"I care not," sobb'd the weeping maid,
"There's more will come to woo me.'

It happen'd now, young Colin soon,
A maid more kind discover'd,
Who yielded quick the sought-for boon,
That him and Chloe sever'd.

A prudent, tho' less ardent swain,
The nymph in grief espying,
Soon taught the girl to love again,

And chang'd to smiles her crying.

Thus all were pleas'd—he got a belle,

The maiden got a beau,

And this is, as it ended well,

What I call-Comme il faut.

LINES

Written on Valentine's Day, and left upon a Young Lady's Easel, who had been painting her own Portrait.

TO MISS

"A woman! yet an angel too~

Not a spirit, but palpably in flesh."

"Not Hester's self, whose charms the Hebrews sing,

Ere look'd so lovely on her Persian king."

SWEET limner, why essay to give,

In art's imperfect guise,

The mirror of those spells that live

Within thy magic eyes?

Dost think this polish'd tablet, where

Thy proxy loves are given,

Can in its rivalry compare

With what's design'd in heaven?

Can skill to fiction's child impart

The loveliness of youth;