'Twould pleasure give, did time allow,

To write thee more, but even now

Propitious airs are gently sighing—

The signal's up-Blue Peter's flying;
While hoarsely peals the warning gun,
And "topsail sheets are homeward run.Ӡ

Once more adieu-and O believe,
Oft shall thy giddy Caleb grieve,

Till time, on pinions glad and light,
Restores thee to his anxious sight.

* A small blue flag, pierced white, kept flying at the mast-head previous to a vessel's sailing, as a signal for "all hands to repair on board."

+ Nautical phraseology has it "topsails loose and sheeted home," but I have taken a liberty in the above instance with the more technial form of expression, for the purpose of facilitating the metre. It is the last signal made before a ship puts to sea, and attention thereto is usually called by "a gun."

WRITTEN IN SPAIN.

"Those breathing forms, those ripe round lips
Like a full parted cherry-those dark eyes,
Rich in such dewy languors."

FULL oft, when around the mild zephyr was sighing,
And dimly the sun shed its vespertine ray—
Full oft, when the muleteer homeward was hieing
And chanting his hymn to the even of day—

I've sat by the cork tree, whose wide-spreading branches

In beauty o'ershadows Iberia's land,

And gaz'd (O my soul, how the mem❜ry entrances !)
On cottagers dancing the gay saraband.*

As oft, when the dance for brief moment was ended,
And wont was the lyrist his art to essay,
I've sigh'd, as the mandolines' symphony blended,
While friendship or love was the soul-moving lay.

* A Spanish dance.

As mutely I've gaz'd when the troubadour's sonnet A joy-beam had call'd to the young maiden's eye, As stilly I've gaz'd at the dew-pearl upon it

When wak'd he his lute with a tear or a sigh.

*

How gladly each mortal delusion resigning,
I'd centre my joys in a region like this,
And, free from the anguish ambition attending,

Learn lessons of peace from these children of bliss!

TO LAURA.

" "Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recall, And since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten."

"O he, be assured, has never prov'd
Life's holiest joys, who has never lov'd."

PR'YTHEE, Laura, cease to lecture,
Smile again with every charm,

Beauty's of so soft a texture

"Twere a sin the gift to harm.

When you say, I am not faithful,
And, inconstance is my creed,

I rejoin, that you're too watchful-
Mutual truths are then agreed.

Since, sweet girl, yourself possessing Every grace by nature given, Pr'ythee do excuse my erring,

When I seek a sister heaven.

TO MISS

On presenting the Author with some MS. poetry of her own

composition.

"Excellent wench !-Perdition catch my soul

But I do love thee, and when I love thee not
Chaos is come again."

"Time goes on crutches

Till love have all its rites."

Not Ovid's warmly breathing lyre

Not Sappho's tenderest song

Not e'en Catullus' harp of fire,

Nor Moore's mellifluous tongue;

Nor all that's ere been sung or said
By bard or warm or true,
Can emulate my Lesbian maid,

The lay inspir'd by you.