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Myself by my companion, self-compelled
To earn the station that in life I held.

They were written in 1796.

Page 129, line 21.

So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide,

An allusion to the floating bee-house, which is seen

in some parts of France and Piedmont.

Page 130, line 6.

Caught thro' St. James's groves at blush of day

After line 6, in the MS.

Groves that Belinda's star illumines still,
And ancient Courts and faded splendours fill.

Page 131, line 8.

And, with the swallow, wings the year away! It was the boast of Lucullus that he changed his climate with the birds of passage.

How often must he have felt the truth here inculcated,

that the master of many houses has no home ?

JACQUELINE.

[graphic]

I.

As Autumn; thro' Provence had ceased

vintage, and the vintage-feast.

sun had set behind the hill, moon was up, and all was still,

1 from the Convent's neighbouring tower clock had tolled the midnight-hour,

ten Jacqueline came forth alone,
r kerchief o'er her tresses thrown ;
guilty thing and full of fears,
tah, how lovely in her tears!

e starts, and what has caught her eye ?
hat-but her shadow gliding by ?

e stops, she pants; with lips apart e listens to her beating heart!

ren, thro' the scanty orchard stealing,

he clustering boughs her track concealing,

She flies, nor casts a thought behind,
But gives her terrors to the wind;

Flies from her home, the humble sphere

Of all her joys and sorrows here,
Her father's house of mountain-stone,
And by a mountain-vine o'ergrown.
At such an hour in such a night,
So calm, so clear, so heavenly bright,
Who would have seen, and not confessed
It looked as all within were blest?
What will not woman, when she loves?
Yet lost, alas, who can restore her?-
She lifts the latch, the wicket moves;
And now the world is all before her.

Up rose St. Pierre, when morning shone;
-And Jacqueline, his child, was gone!
Oh what the madd'ning thought that came?
Dishonour coupled with his name!

By Condé at Rocroy he stood;
By Turenne, when the Rhine ran blood.
Two banners of Castile he gave
Aloft in Notre Dame to wave;
Nor did thy cross, St. Louis, rest
Upon a purer, nobler breast.

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