Oh, Huon! when my brow sat cloudy oft O'er my cold eye, that look'd askant at thee, Thou little thought what friend there was within Would make that brow clear as a summer sky, That eye, bright glowing as a summer's sun, To kindle thee-as they, their world, with life, And health, and wealth, and gladness. J. S. KNOWLES. THE ROSE. Of all flowers, Methinks the Rose is best. It is the very emblem of a maid: For, when the west wind courts her gently, Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity, BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. SHE DWELT AMONG THE UN TRODDEN WAYS. SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid, whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown,-and few could know When Lucy ceased to be: But she is in her grave, and, oh! The difference to me! WORDSWORTH. SONNET. Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely maid Say, that of all her charms I love to speak, In fancy view the smile illume her cheek, Court the lone hour when silence stills the grove, And heave the sigh of Memory and of Love. SONG. SOUTHEY. Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spy'd, In desarts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended dy'd. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retir'd: Suffer herself to be desir'd, And not blush so to be admir'd. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share, WALLER. STANZAS ON WOMAN. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, LOVE. GOLDSMITH. LOVE is a plant of holier birth Than any that takes its root on earth; Hope in the bud is often blasted, And beauty on the desert wasted; But love shall live, and live for ever, And chance and change shall reach it never; Can hearts in which true love is plighted By want or woe be disunited? Ah no! like buds on one stem born, They share between them e'en the thorn, |