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ON RECEIVING A COPY OF VERSES FROM

THE SAME LADIES.

HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem, When it flutters in sunbeams that shine through a fountain?

Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?
That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?
And splendidly mark'd with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?

Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing? Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is? Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?

And wear'st thou the shield of the famed Britomartis ?

What is it that hangs from thy shoulder so brave, Embroider'd with many a spring-peering

flower?

Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?

And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?

Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd;

Full many the glories that brighten thy youth! I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound In magical powers to bless and to soothe.

On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair A sun-beaming tale of a wreath, and a chain: And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare

Of charming my mind from the trainmels of pain.

This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay; Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish,

When lovely Titania was far, far away,

And cruelly left him to sorrow and anguish.

There, oft would he bring from his soft-sighing lute

Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listen'd!

The wondering spirits of Heaven were mute, And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glisten'd.

In this little dome, all those melodies strange,
Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;
Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness

change,

Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.

So when I am in a voluptuous vein,

I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain, Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

Adieu! valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd,
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,
I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to soothe.

ΤΟ

HADST thou lived in days of old,
O what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
And thy humid eyes, that dance
In the midst of their own brightness,
In the very fane of lightness;
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning:
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like the streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.

Of thy dark hair, that extends
Into many graceful bends :

As the leaves of hellebore

Turn to whence they sprung before. And behind each ample curl

Peeps the richness of a pearl.

Downward too flows many a tress

With a glossy waviness,

Full, and round like globes that rise

From the censer to the skies

Through sunny hair. Add too, the sweetness
Of thy honied voice; the neatness
Of thine ankle lightly turn'd:
With those beauties scarce discern'd,
Kept with such sweet privacy,
That they seldom meet the eye
Of the little Loves that fly
Round about with eager pry.

Saving when with freshening lave,

Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
Like twin water-lilies, born

In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
Now the Muses had been ten.
Couldst thou wish for lineage higher
Than twin-sister of Thalia ?
At least for ever, evermore
Will I call the Graces four.

Hadst thou lived when chivalry

Lifted up her lance on high,

Tell me what thou wouldst have been?

Ah! I see the silver sheen

Of thy broider'd-floating vest

Covering half thine ivory breast:
Which, O Heavens! I should see,
But that cruel Destiny

Has placed a golden cuirass there,
Keeping secret what is fair.

Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested,

Thy locks in knightly casque are rested:

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