A GARLAND FOR A WHITE FOREHEAD. Now if Time knows That her whose radiant brows Weave them a Garland of my vows; Her whose just bays My future hopes can raise, A trophy to her present praise; Her that dares be What these lines wish to see;- CRASHAW. THE spirit of mine eyes is faint I close my eyelids, but within Thy Beauty walketh by my side Thy face from every crystal stream * How delicious were those lines of Cowley:Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair. Moonlight sleeps on wood and flower! Beloved! that thou art. The sweet breath of thine eyes doth fall* DANCING. Он, Beautiful! when Venus sprung, And round her breast her tresses clung, With lip, and cheek, and eye like thine, THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. SOFTLY tread! Cythera keeps Voices from Elysium lull The slumber of the Beautiful! *This was a favourite conceit of Philostratus; and has certainly something to recommend it. See! the dimpled pillow glows With her odorous breath of rose; Wake her not! enchanted dreams Stir not the Garland of sweet Dreams Which sleep hath bound upon her head! WAITING FOR THE BELOVED IN MAY. MAY's red lips are breathed apart Ever softly stealing thro', When the silvery morning dew Gladness from her Cave of Cloud Hark! along the covert green, Plenty scatters from thy horn. All things dost thou bring with thee,- Sweet airs to the aching head, Then why, fair May, am I forgot? And my sweet Flower not come to me! * The Nightingale. SIDNEY WALKER AND JOHN MOULTRIE. Tempora nam licet hic placidis dare libera Musis, Et totum rapiunt me, mea vita, libri. Milton ad Carolum Deodatum. Let my lamp, at midnight hour, Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Or the tale of Troy divine !—Il Penseroso. MOULTRIE. How delightful it is in this busy and tumultuous age-this carnival of politics and commerce-to have a Cave to retire into; an Eugeria from whose lips to gather strains of serene beauty and wisdom, —there we can cool that fever of the spirits, which the excitement of the world so often occasions. Every step we take out of the narrow boundaries of the time we live in carries us into a purer atmosphere; and while the sweet air and the unclouded sky of Athens charm our senses into peace, the hoarse contention of this actual life dies away be |