I always in the battle front appear,
And in retreat I cover up the rear.
With Emperor and with Empress I am seen,
But do not bend to either King or Queen;
The lawyer's robe and Westminster I grace,
But ah! in Equity I find no place:
Without me rapid cure was never made,
Though medicine manages without my aid;

I lead religion and am head of Rome,
Yet midst all Protestants I find a home;
Of marriages I must a witness be,

With heart, or heartless, 'tis the same to me!
Sweet with the rose, or savage with the thorn,
For love or sympathy I was not born;

Yet vice my presence never did beguile,

Truth, honour, virtue, own me with a smile,

Without me friends are fiends-I make fiends

friends,

And more I claim,—but here my story ends.

TO MISS G

With gloves lost in a wager.

[AD gloves been lost to me

HAD

The "number" had been But they were won by thee,

And "seven" is thine.

Had "nine" victorious been,
The Muses might have sung;
E'en now one moves my pen
Their choir among.

"Sevens" in Euterpe's art

A leading office hold;
But ah! what sound impart?

Be it not told!

Nay, tell not discord wide,
But soft, and to make agree;
From chord to chord they guide
Sweet harmony!

LIE AND LAY.

AY those roses where she lay,

LAY

Ere their blushing blossoms die;

Ere their perfumes pass away,

Be they laid where she did lie.

None have lien in that shade,

None have lain upon that green,
Where her lovely form she laid,
Lying like some sylvan queen.

We those flowers as we are laying,
While for her we all lie sighing,
Sweets of memory are displaying,
Laying them where she lay lying.

Lo! she comes again, give way!

Lay no more, nor word be said, Lo! she lies where erst she lay,

And all beneath her spell lies laid!

H

TO CATHERINE.

OW comes it that thy peaceful form

Should be the herald of a storm?

How comes it that thy beaming eye
Should fill me full of agony?

And that sweet voice which, as it flows,
Comes like an odour from the rose,
Is author of my keenest woes;
And that benignant, peaceful smile,
That Nature fashioned to beguile,
Stings like a serpent of the Nile!
It is, if aught the heart can prove,

It is because I deeply love,

And deeply loving, half divine

Thy happiness can ne'er be mine.

Oh! speak no more of Cupid's fabled bow,

These are the arrows that we lovers know!

P

ACROSTIC TO A LADY.

At her request.

INCE all must change that smiles or frowns on

SINCE

earth,

As days and nights come round in turn again,
Blind were the heart to sigh for constant mirth,
If that might be there might be constant pain;
No-take thy life as Heaven doth here ordain,
A blended picture all of light and shade,

And in thy darker moments still retain

[vade.

Links with the past where pleasant thoughts per

Divine thy future thence, nor be dismayed,
Renounce distrust, and in this thought stand fast :

If joy and grief must, both alternate, fade,
Deceiving sense, delusive to the last,

Gather thy comfort from that Hope alone, [known.
Each Sage once darkly sought, each Saint hath