Around thee robes of snowy white, With virgin taste are thrown; The auburn hair is braided soft It were a crime, a double death, But let me press that hand again, Or summer's evening grove; Or pausing, as we marked afar, It is a dream, and thou art gone; To muse on days, when thou to me Oh! lonely is the lot of him, Whose path is on the earth, And when his thoughts are dark and dim, Hears only vacant mirth; A swallow left, when all his kind Have crossed the seas, and winged the wind. TO THE HERB ROSEMARY. Henry Kirke White. SWEET Scented flower! who'rt wont to bloom On January's front severe, And o'er the wintry desart drear To waft thy waste perfume! Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, And I will bind thee round my brow; And as I twine the mournful wreath, I'll weave a melancholy song; And sweet the strain shall be, and long, Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to dwell With the pale corse in lonely tomb, And throw across the desart gloom, A sweet decaying smell. Come, press my lips, and lie with me And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, So peaceful and so deep. And hark! the wind-god as he flies, Moans hollow in the forest trees, And sailing on the gusty breeze, Sweet flower, that requiem wild is mine, The cold turf altar of the dead; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, Where as I lie by all forgot, A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed. STANZAS. I KNEW thee in thy cloudless day, To hide from all my soul's despair, I would not link our fates together. When I have seen thee, gay at heart, Thro' lighted halls with others rove, I've stood in some deserted part, And gazed on thee in speechless love. And when I saw thy lovers press Round thee, a fickle watch to keep; I felt my utter loneliness, And turn'd from them and thee to weep- In anguish and unyielding sorrow, To weep o'er wounds that would not close, And hopes for which there seem'd no morrow. But tempests came across the skies, And mingled woe brought mingled balm ; And grief was mute, and sorrow calm. When joy has bound two hearts for years, A sudden storm those hearts may sever; But, oh! the love that springs in tears, Through change and time endures for ever. V. HUMOROUS AND AMUSING PIECES. MONSIEUR TONSON. Taylor. THERE liv'd, as fame reports, in days of yore, A pleasant Wag on town, yclep'd Tom King, Expert in all the arts to tease and smoke ; In short, for strokes of humour quite the thing. To many a jovial Club this King was known, To him a frolic was a high delight, |