Then read, dear girl! with feeling read,

For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; To thee in vain I shall not plead In pity for the poet's woes.

He was in sooth a genuine bard;

He was no faint fictitious flame Like his, may love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same.

THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE.•

« Α Βαρβιτος δε χορδαῖς Έρωτα μουνον ἠχει.”

Anacreon.

AWAY with your fictions of flimsy romance

+ Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove; Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove, From what blest inspirations your sonnets would flow,

Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love!

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, And try the effect of the first kiss of love.

hate you, ye cold compositions of art,

Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots re

prove,

I court the effusions that spring from the heart Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move : Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man since his birth, § From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove;

Some portion of paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past

For years fleet away with the wings of the doveThe dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

• These stanzas were printed in the private volume, and in the first edition f Bours of Deness, but omitted in the second.

!" Those tias es of fancy Moriah has wove."-Private volume. "Your shepherds, your pipes, &c.—Private volume.

" "Oh! cease to affirm that man, from his birth," &c.-Private volume.

"Moriah, the Goddess of Folly."

TO MARY.

OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair; That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When nature stamped thy beauteous birth, So much perfection in thee shone,

She fear'd that too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own.

Therefore, to guard her dearest work, Lest angels might dispute the prize She bade a secret lightning lurk

Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest sylph appal, When gleaming with meridian blaze, Thy beauty must enrapture all,

But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

"Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven : But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere 1806

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget but to adore thee.

Oh, Memory thou choicest blessing

When join'd with hope, when still possessing
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."■

• The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels:
Deceit the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreter, the eyes,

Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit, from within reproved us,
Say rather, "'twas the spirit moved us."
Though what they utter'd I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
This for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through

SONG.

WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven, of

snow! +

To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gathered below,
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you?

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name,What passion can dwell in the heart of a child? But still I perceive an emotion the same

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild. One image alone on my bosom impress'd,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd; And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with

you.

I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide, From mountain to mountain I bounded along;

I breasted the billow of Dee's rushing tide, And heard at a distance the Highlander's song:

• These lines were published in the private volume, and the first edition of Jours of Idlenesa, but subsequently omitted by the author.

The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mas Loige, and alls im the sea at New Aberdeen.