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"I grant, my Ching, that for a while,
"This pack-horse state we might abide,
"And Wealth's soft hope might reconcile
"To every gall the skin of pride.

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"Whispering from out these very stings
"Your future independence springs.'
"But, now wealth's won! there but remains
"To' enjoy betimes our hard-earned gains.
"Slight is the forfeit, to forego

"The honours of the raree show.
"And sure of all our wants require,
"Renounce the monster, and retire!"

"Upon my word," said Ching, " 'tis strange "It ne'er occurred to me, this change;

"But, now you mention it, I see a "World to admire in your idea;

"To-morrow, 'gad, we'll make them all dumb "By cutting this confounded thraldom.

"We'll claim old Hodges's account,

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Keep house upon our share's amount :

"Go here, go there, consult our ease,

"And do exactly what we please;

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Indulge in draughts, minced veal, and whiskey, "And-'split my wig--but we'll be frisky !"

"What deep," continued Chang, "what still "Delight, this great world to survey;

"To rove its thousand paths at will,

"And find a TRUTH in every way!

"To trace the springs by which are bow'd,
"Or rais'd, in turn, the obedient crowd,
"As shifts the custom 'midst them thrown,
"Without one impulse of their own.
"To view the mighty map of man

"Before the kindling gaze unfurled; "And, line by line, to track the plan-"

"In short," cried Ching," to see the world!"

Thus talk'd the Twins, until the dew
Of life, sweet slumber, o'er them grew;
When lo! a light beneath the door—
And hark! a footstep on the floor---
And softly tow'rds the brothers' bed,
With shaded lamp, and hushing tread,
A charming vision stole ;-its form
Was light, yet lovely as a fairy;
But human beauty, rich and warm,
Hung o'er the cheek its glowing charm—
'Tis their host's daughter-Mary!

How holy woman's youth-while yet
Its rose with life's first dews is wet-
While hope most pure is least confest,
And all the Virgin in the breast!

O'er her white brow, wherein the blue
Transparent vein seemed proud to bear
The warm thoughts of her heart—unto

The soul so nobly palaced there!
O'er her white brow were richly braided
The tresses in a golden flow;

But darkly slept the lash that shaded
Her deep eye, on its lids of snow.
What could that magic eye inspire?
Its very light was a desire;

And each blue wandering of its beam,
Called forth a worship and a dream ;
The soft rose on her softest cheek

Had yet the sun's last smile to win;
But not the less each blush could speak
How full the sweetness hived within.

The rich lip in its bright repose
Refused above its wealth to close,
And mid the coral and the dew,
The pearls all freshly glistened thro',
And round that lip, in dimpled cell,
The smiles that wreathe enchantment dwell-

Waked by a word—and yet revealing
A witness less of Mirth than Feeling-
Rounded her glorious shape :—tho' mute
Died Echo round her fairy foot,
Tho' small as childhood's was the band

That lightly clasp'd her graceful vest,

And tho' so slight her tempting hand,

You hid it while you prest,

Yet formed the hills her robe controul'd
In Love's most ripe luxuriant mould.
Not in more swelling whiteness sails
Cayster's swan to western gales, *
When the melodious murmur sings
'Mid her slow-heav'd voluptuous wings.
And never on a breast more formed
For lofty dreams-yet low devotion-
More tender, or more truly warmed

With all which lights-yet guides-emotion; —
More fitted in the evil day

To be Man's solace and his stay;

Never on breast more rich in aught

That comforts grief-but heightens thought

* The reader will remember the passage in the Hymn attributed to Anacreon

Ατε τὶς κύκνος Καὔστρε

Πολιοῖς πτεροῖσι μέλπων

Ανεμου συναυλον ἠχήν.

And also perhaps a passage in Nazianzen (Orat. 34), for which I myself am indebted to Mr. Jodrell, in his Illustrations of the Ion of Euripides, and which I transcribe from that work.

Τὶς ὁ κύκνω συνυφαίνων τὴν ὠδὴν ὅταν ἐκπετάση τὸ πτερὸν ταῖς αὔραις καὶ ποιῆ μελος τὸ σύριγμα.

It was an ancient notion, that the music of the swan was produced by its wings, and inspired by the zephyr. See this subject treated with his accustomed erudition by Mr. Jodrell, in the above-mentioned Illustrations.

Did lover rest, and feel the earth,

Had faded round him into dearth

That Fate was baffled; and that Change
Had lost the wish-the power to range;
And all the world-its hopes-its charms—
Its Future-shrunk within his arms!
O Woman! day-star of our doom—
Thy dawn our birth-thy close our tomb,
Or if the Mother or the Bride,

Our fondest friend and surest guide;

And yet our folly and our fever,
The Dream-the Meteor-the Deceiver-
Still, spite of sorrow-wisdom-years—-
And those-Fate's sternest warners-tears-
Still clings my yearning heart unto thee,
Still knows no wish like those which woo thee,

Still in some living form essays

To clasp the bright cloud it portrays ;

And still as one who waits beside,

But may not ford, the faithless tide--
It wears its own brief life away---

It marks the shining waters stray---
Courts every change that glads the river-
And finds that change it pines for--never!

New string the lute, as from my soul
The feelings life should banish, fail,
And sobering from fond Thought's control,
My verse glides onward with my tale.

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