Below thy sire's abode, behold,
The gentle Bride has join'd the Lee,
Till now alone, and pure, and cold,
The Bride was but a type of thee:
Lovely lady, who is he

Whose symbol is the wedded Lee?

For him life's stream will fairly glide!
And joy be his, whoe'er he be!
So farewell now the Lee and Bride,

Whose flowery banks are not for me:
Banks there are as fair to see,

But where's the nymph like her of Lee?

LINES TO MRS. DUNLOP, FOR ROTHA.

O COULD I lay as fair a chain

Upon that neck of thine

As thou, to make my birthday vain,

This morn hast laid on mine,

Sweet lady, nor of gold nor pearl

My fairy gift should be ;

The feeble fancy of a girl

Should prove too strong for thee.

And wert thou e'er so far away,
My chain should hold thee still,

A charm upon thy spirit lay,
Thy memory and thy will:

A charm to make thee, when we part,

Full oft of her to think

Who would have bound thee to her heart

With love in

THE FOZ, NEAR OPORTO,

September 15, 1845.

TO MISS

THOU wert to me a mystery of not unpleasing dread; Thou art to me a history that I have quickly read! There is a spell upon thee which I would not read

To

any

aloud,

but thy secret ear within an arbour's shroud. For though it might be quickly said, thy cheek would change its hue

If 'twere exprest by more than one, or heard by more

than two.

It is not guilt, it is not shame; tho' leading oft to both In breasts where sensibility is prodigal of growth.

Thou art not happy, though thy smile would fain the

truth deny;

I know too much of sorrow's guile to trust a laughing

eye :

Thine is a genuine woman's heart; all woman to the

core;

Beware; be warn'd before we part! for we shall meet

no more.

(Though not perchance without a sigh shall memory

oft retrace

That fine pale air of intellect and melancholy grace.) Farewell, forget me if thou wilt, while pleasures round

thee bloom,

Remember me when thou art left in solitude and gloom.

TO MARY, DANCING.

DIANA'S queenlike step is thine,
And when in dance thy feet combine

They fall with truth so sweet,
The music seems to come from thee,
And all the notes appear to be

"The echoes of thy feet.”

And

every limb with all the notes In that accordant beauty floats

And careless air of chance,

That 'tis a rapture to behold

Thee thus, with waving locks of gold, The very soul of dance.

The loveliness so rich before

Puts on a thousand graces more

In that inspiring maze;

Like jewels brighter when in motion, Or sunshine on the waves of ocean, Alive with dancing rays.

MAY LUTTRELL.

A CHRISTMAS Day on Biscay's Bay

Is

sorry cheer, May Luttrell ! A roaring breeze and raging seas

Are music drear, May Luttrell!