Like Henry, when he heard recounted *
The generous deeds himself had done,

(That night the miller's maid Colette

Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette)
Then-when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,

Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed

A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,
-Without it what are all the rest ?-

To love, and to be loved again.

*Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France; similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield."

Το

Go-you may call it madness, folly;
You shall not chase my gloom away.

There's such a charm in melancholy,

I would not, if I could, be

gay.

Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,

You would not rob me of a treasure
Monarchs are too poor to buy.

FROM EURIPIDES.

THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.

The village-girls, singing wild madrigals,

Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her.

Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire,

"Twas heaven to look upon; and her sweet voice,

N

As tuneable as harp of many strings,
At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul!

Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees;
And all, who know it, come and come again.
The small birds build there; and, at summer-noon,
Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers,

As in the shining grass she sate concealed,
Sing to herself.

CAPTIVITY.

CAGED in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake

When the hern screams along the distant lake,

Her little heart oft flutters to be free,

Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key.

In vain! the nurse that rusted relic wears,
Nor moved by gold-nor to be moved by tears;
And terraced walls their black reflection throw
On the green-mantled moat that sleeps below.

THE Sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,

As all its lessening turrets bluely fade;

He climbs the mast to feast his eye once more, And busy fancy fondly lends her aid.

Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew, Recalled and cherished in a foreign clime, Charms with the magic of a moonlight view; Its colours mellowed, not impaired, by time.

True as the needle, homeward points his heart, Thro' all the horrors of the stormy main;

This, the last wish that would with life depart, To see the smile of her he loves again.

When Morn first faintly draws her silver line,
Or Eve's grey cloud descends to drink the wave;
When sea and sky in midnight-darkness join,
Still, still he views the parting look she gave.

Her gentle spirit, lightly hovering o'er,
Attends his little bark from pole to pole;
And, when the beating billows round him roar,
Whispers sweet hope to sooth his troubled soul.

Carved is her name in many a spicy grove,
In many a plantain-forest, waving wide;
Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove,
And giant palms o'er-arch the golden tide.