The sweet expression of that face,
For ever changing, yet the same,
Ah no, I dare not turn to trace,
It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow,
And on your white neck love to rest.

-Say, when, to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet,
How could its thrilling touch excite

A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

O say-but no, it must not be;
Adieu! a long, a long adieu!

-Yet still, methinks, you frown on me;

Or never could I fly from you.

TRUE LOVE.

RICHARD HOWITT,

Thou art lovelier than the coming
Of the fairest flowers of spring,
When the wild bee wanders humming,
Like a blessed fairy thing;
Thou art lovelier than the breaking

Of the orient crimson'd morn,
When the gentlest winds are shaking,
The dewdrops from the thorn.

I have seen the wild-flowers springing
In wood, and field, and glen,
Where a thousand birds were singing,

And my thoughts were of thee then ;
For there's nothing gladsome round me,
Nothing beautiful to see,

Since thy beauty's spell has bound me,
But is eloquent of thee.

SHE IS NOT FAIR?

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

She is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smiled on me:

Oh, then I saw her eye was bright—
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply;
And yet I cease not to behold,
The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are better far

Than smiles of other maidens are!

[This is a very pretty song, and worthy of the name of Coleridge.]

SYLVIA TO ROMANZO.

GEORGE DARLEY.

The streams that wind amid the hills,
And lost in pleasure slowly roam,
While their deep joy the valley fills,-
Ev'n these will leave their mountain-home :
So may it, love! with others be,
But I will never wend from thee.

The leaf forsakes the parent spray,
The blossom quits the stem as fast,
The rose-enamour'd bird will stray
And leave his eglantine at last;
So may it love! with others be
But I will never wend from thee.

SYLVIA TO ROMANZO.

GEORGE DARLEY.

I've pluck'd the woodbine, and lilac so pale,

And the sweetest young cowslips that grew in the dale,
The bud from the flower, and the leaf from the tree,
To bind a rich garland, young shepherd! for thee.

O look how the rose blushes deeper with pride,
And how pretty forget-me-not peeps by its side;
How the high-crested pink in brave plumage doth fall,
And look how the lily looks sweeter than all.

My beautiful myrtle!-I think thou dost know
Upon whom this rich garland I mean to bestow;

For thou seems't with a voice full of fragrance to sigh"Should I wreath that young shepherd how happy were I !"

Come, bend me thy brow, gentle youth! and I'll twine Round thy temples so pure this rich garland of mine; O thou look'st such a prince! from this day, from this hour,

I will call thee nought else but the Lord of my Bower.

THE QUEEN OF THE MAY.

GEORGE DARLEY.

Here's a bank with rich cowslips and cuckoo-buds strewn,

To exalt your bright looks, gentle Queen of the May! Here's a cushion of moss for your delicate shoon, And a woodbine to weave you a canopy gay!

Here's a garland of red-maiden-roses for you,
Such a beautiful wreath is for beauty alone!
Here's a golden king-cup, brimming over with dew,
To be kiss'd by a lip just as sweet as its own!

Here are bracelets of pearl from the fount in the dale, That the nymph of the wave on your wrists doth bestow;

Here's a lily-wrought scarf, your sweet blushes to veil, Or to lie on that bosom like snow upon snow.

Here's a myrtle enwreath'd with a jessamine band,
To express the fond twining of beauty and youth;
Take this emblem of love in thy exquisite hand,
And do thou sway the evergreen sceptre of Truth!

Then around you we'll dance, and around you we'll

sing!

To soft pipe, and sweet tabor we'll foot it away! And the hills, and the vales, and the forests shall ring While we hail you our lovely young Queen of the

May.

THE CALL.

GEORGE DARLEY.

Awake thee, my lady-love!
Wake thee and rise!

The sun through the bower peeps
Into thine eyes!

Behold how the early lark

Springs from the corn!

Hark, hark how the flower-bird

Winds her wee horn!

The swallow's glad shriek is heard

All through the air!

The stock-dove is murmuring

Loud as she dare!