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YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY *
Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal *
What most her blushes would conceal ?
Why lift that modest veil to trace
The seraph-sweetness of her face?
Some fairer, better sport prefer ;
And feel for us, if not for her.
For this presumption, soon or late,
Know thine shall be a kindred fate.
Another shall in vengeance rise-
Sing Harriet's cheeks, and Harriet's eyes ;
And, echoing back her wood-notes wild,
- Trace all the mother in the child !
Alluding to some verses which she had written on an elder sister.
THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.
The sun-beams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck thro' the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
High on their iron poles they pass ;
Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,
Rend from above a frozen mass.
The goats wind slow their wonted way,
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude ;
Marked by the wild wolf for his prey,
From desert cave or hanging wood.
And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
The huts peep o'er the morning-cloud,
Perched, like an eagle's nest, on high.
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.
And dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,
(Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurled)
Still sit as on the fragment of a world;
Surviving all, majestic and alone ?
What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept
Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept,
Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk
Deep in the dust mid tower and temple sunk;
Soon to subdue mankind 'twas thine to rise,
Still, still unquelled thy glorious energies !
Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught*
Bright revelations of the Good they sought ;
By thee that long-lost spellt in secret given,
To draw down Gods, and lift the soul to Heaven!
* In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius 11,1 was long the favourite study of those great men to whom we owe there vival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci.
+ Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.-Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200.
MINE be a cot beside the hill ;
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
fall shall linger near.
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.