HYPOCRISY.

YON crafty monk, with pleasing grace, Of Piety's assumed the face, Pretending what he never knew, Deceiving all with outward view.But Truth and stubborn Fact at length Burst forth in all their native strength. Hypocrisy--Oh, vain disguise !— Fled from the lightning of their eyes; And Fame, so long, so dearly loved, From form so hideous soon removed. 1820.

ENIGMA.

1820.

FORM an image in thy mind,
Of a being so refined;

Of a beauty pure and high,
So like that above the sky;
Of a purity so bright,

That in whom these charms unite
Dwelleth some strange gift divine,
Barred all other human shrine.
Where, but in that maiden mild,
Mother of God's only child,

May that wondrous gift be found?
Blend her name with that one sound,
Which alone hath magic power,
All the earth and ocean o'er,

To control the human heart
As by some enchanter's art;
Bidding each to other cling,
Flora formed a gem of spring.

LINES,

READ AS AN OFFICIAL CRITICISM UPON THE STANZAS OF A FRIEND, BEFORE A COLLEGIATE LITERARY SOCIETY.

166

T'other night, having taken the part
Of a critic-that terrible fellow!
I was sweating to say something smart,
When I heard just behind me a halloo !

I started—a steed pranced before me,—
He had wings, and he spread them to fly ;—
I mounted with haste, and he bore me
Aloft, 'tween the earth and the sky.

Across the wide ocean he flew,

To a lone street in Edinburgh town,
Toward an iron-bound mansion he drew-
At a wicket of brass set me down.

The prince of the critics peeped out,
And seizing the strains ye have heard—
“Alas!” cried he, then, with a shout,
"My dear little fellow, a word."-

LINES.

Take the poem--I'll give thee a pen
Dipped in opium, wormwood and gall;
Find fault-write with spirit, and then
I'll admit thee to serve at my call.

He vanished, and lo! on the top

Of a high, grassy hill I reclined ;

The Muses drew near the sweet spot,
With Rob Burns, their companion, behind.

To Clio I offered the strain

She smiled as she glanced o'er the page— "Burns, read it," she cried, "and again Thy harp shall be strung in its age." 1823.

167

1820.

TO THE MUSE THALIA.

THALIA! thou sweet, smiling maid!
How dare I hope without thy aid

To tune the larynx sweet;

'Tis only thou canst give the fire
That did thy favorite son inspire

In Mantua's loved retreat.

Come, then, with all thy wonted glee,
And bring thy pipe along with thee,
To join the shepherd's song;

So shall thy bard, in welcome strains,
Unfold the life of happy swains

Far from the world's proud throng.

THE END.