And Fred'ric lov'd her from his heart's deep core,

But as a Brother with no feeling more

But friendship was in him a small remove

From what, in minds of common frame, were love.

In College honours Fred'ric long had shone,
And Clair enjoy'd the triumph as his own,
Repeating oft, "I love him as a Son!"
Nor, till that word, emphatically said,

His Emma's cheek with deeper rose o'erspread,
Did Clair's ingenuous mind the truth suspect,
Or Emma's self her growing love detect:
But now 'twas clear; and he amaz'd, till now
He should so lack discernment; should allow
His dreams of tender friendship to persuade,
That love could fail on friendship's path t'invade
So fine a youth, so beautiful a maid!

But they should wed he would not say them nay

The world might blame, and meddling fools might say,

"Poor Clair has thrown his daughter quite away!

""Tis a great pity!" But he heeded not

He could bestow, at least, an easy lot:

All that can yield content they would enjoy,
And ev'ry other good (so call'd) is but a toy.
Would Emma's beauty shine more dazzling bright,
Did some clear stones, with strong reflected light,
Circle her arm, or glitter on her head

Though fathoms deep was once their silent bed -
Than when the lavish stock, or blushing rose,

From earth's fair surface in her bosom glows?

And could these trappings such enjoyment win

As the calm heart, with love and friendship blest, within? Still they were young - 'twere best, perhaps, to wait;

Maturer years might give yet happier fate,

And from rash word and wild caprices shield:
Then the mind's energies to reason yield—

For all were human; he would not exalt

E'en Fred'ric to a being spared a fault;

His Emma had her little failings too,

Though, like her dear lost mother's, they indeed were few.

Thus, when the youth (submissive as a son,

And justly so) had half his prologue done,

Of Seymour travelling two years, at least,

Would but some friend (and O the glorious feast!)

D

Consent his fellow-rambler to become,

To Spain, to Switzerland, and (best of all!) to Rome; Clair with delight in all the scheme concurr'd,

Till Fred'ric, half surpriz'd, consent so eager heard.
Not so poor Emma. No attempt she made

To speak, but sought the garden's shade,
And there indulg'd the tear that maiden pride,

Now first inspiring caution, bade her hide.

Ere that enlight'ning minute, when one word
Thrill'd to the heart, with such strange interest heard,

She would have wish'd him happy, but confest

Two years of absence too severe a test,

And own'd the fears would agitate her breast:
Dangers by sea such storms unlook'd-for come
Then horrid fissures that might seal his doom,
If dread Helvetia's mountains he should climb
And he, alas! so fond of the sublime!

But now she sought her terrors to disguise,
And, ere returning, bath'd her tell-tale eyes;
Nor, till the dreaded hour of parting came,
Did Nature all her sovereignty reclaim :

But then, resistless grown, the grief indulg'd,
To all but Fred'ric had the truth divulg'd-

But why suspect her sorrow love? he felt

His own warm heart with tender friendship melt; And, as he grasp'd Clair's hand, still linger'd, loth For even Rome itself to quit them both;

Then, struggling with the feelings that opprest,
Said, with forced smile, and ill-pretended jest:

“ Nay, Emma, nay what treasures do you lack?

"Come, make the list, and I will bring them back. "What will you say when I, perhaps, produce

"Falernian wine, and water from Vaucluse ?

"One of the silken slippers Laura wore

"When Petrarch saw her glide his path before,

"And grew enamour'd ere she reach'd the abbey door? "Dust from the very spot where Cæsar fell,

"And Brutus' dagger melted to a bell?

“Then, too, I shall bring home such pencil sketches! "Such curious plants, such buttercups and vetches

"Nay, Emma dearest, if my nonsense hurt,

"I will have done. In truth, I would divert

D 2

"The heavy weight my own poor heart endures,

"For, trust me, Emma, 'tis severe as yours."

A few, few minutes more

and he was gone,

And Emma by th' acacia, sad, alone.

We pass the letters that to Clair impart
The grateful feelings of a guileless heart,
(Letters how dearly priz'd!) and turn to those
That in a Mother's breast each thought repose.

FREDERIC TO EUGENIA, FROM ROME.

YES! there is much in place. My mind at home O'er deeds of old would half abstracted roam;

Here all is present to my eager eye

Except the present; and the days gone by
Seem to return. The dust I trample o'er

Lives, in idea, on its wonted shore.
"Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay,"
I know, as though I hail'd him yesterday,
And saw him wave the proffer'd crown away.