5.

However, dear S——, for I still must esteem you, The few whom I love I can never upbraid,

The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem

you,

Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

6.

I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,
With me no corroding resentment shall live;
My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection,
That both may be wrong, and that both should
forgive.

7.

You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,

If danger demanded, were wholly your own; You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance, Devoted to love and to friendship alone.

8.

You knew, but away with the vain retrospection, The bond of affection no longer endures;

Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours.

9

For the present, we part,-I will hope not for

ever,

For time and regret will restore you at last; To forget our dissention we both should endeavour; I ask no atonement, but days like the past.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,

My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

20

Here, I can trace the locks of gold,

Which round thy snowy forehead wave;

The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.

Here, I can trace

3.

ah no! that eye,

Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

4.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying? Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing.

Sweet copy

5.

! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

6.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious, that her image, there,

Held every sense in fast controul.

7.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer; My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 'twill

appear,

And meet my fond expiring gaze.

DAMÆTAS.

In law an infant,* and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy,
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd,
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child,

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool,

Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal, when others just begin;
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;

* In Law, every person is an infant, who has not attained the age of twenty-one.

But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane.

TO MARION.

MARION! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,

Some will love, and all admire;

While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes like thine were never meant

To hide their orbs, in dark restraint;