For minds as pure, and hearts as warm,
Within those social dwellings rest:
Thine kindled love, thine beauty's charm,
And kindness to the stranger-guest.
The sun declines; we must return ;-
But, ah, my giddy brain turns round;
I cannot hear the trickling burn,
Nor dare I dread the slippery ground:
My dear companion's arm my stay,
She leads me trembling, faltering, blind, Unused to such adventurous way,
Till the steep greensward path we find.
Oh! 'twas a wise and hardy wight,
Of nerve untamed, and sinews braced,
That down the mountain's fearful height,
This side-long pathway boldly traced;
The blood that warms my recreant veins,
From the same source its being gained,
But time, the sea, and southern plains,
The mountaineer's bold drops have drained.
Safe on the lower ground I stand,
Exulting in the labour past-
My sylvan prize is in my hand,
Which, Mitford! at thy feet I cast;
Assured that e'en my humble lay
That gentle bosom will not scorn,
Though genius poured the brilliant ray
That your own truthful works adorn.
TO FANNY B., AGED THREE YEARS.
Even so, this happy creature of herself
Is all-sufficient; solitude to her
Is blithe society.
As young and pretty as the bud
Of the strawberry in the wood;
As restless as the fawn that's there,
Playing like a thing of air,-
Chasing the wind, if there be any,-
Like these thou art, my little Fanny!
I look on thee, and in thy face,
The life is there of childish grace:
I see the silent thought that breaks
Into young smiles, as fancy wakes;
And newly winged intelligence,
Trying its little flights from thence;
I see a strife 'twixt health and beauty,
Which shall the best achieve its duty;
A gentle strife, for both contend;
But both, like bees, their labour blend.
Thy cheek, by health, is rounded well,
By its hand invisible;
But sweet and rosy hues there are,
And you may trace young beauty there.
Health made thy gentle lips to be
So glad in their own company;
So lavish of the cherry's dyes,
So like the leaf, when autumn flies:-
But beauty claims thy young blue eyes;
And, oh! thy little light, soft hair,
Parted on thy forehead fair,
Doth seem to take its own delight
In leaning smooth and looking bright.
Thy figure small, and tiny feet,
Dotting the carpet round us, greet
Our hearts with joy, and feed the sense
Of love for utter innocence.
These beauties, Fanny, are to thee,
As yet, unknown society;-
And so, there a befitting dress
For thy mental prettiness;-
For thy simple thoughts, that seem
Fragments of a summer dream;
For thy merry lips' first sayings,
For thy fancy's fairy strayings :
Thou art wiser far than many
That in years are richer, Fanny !
The best of wisdom dwells with thee, In thy white simplicity,—
In thy young imaginings,
Which float about on spotless wings;
In thy prattlings, kindly meant,
And in thy beautiful content.
Thine is the bloom of life, and we
Are jarrers in society,-
Opposers of each other's good,
Despoilers of all neighbourhood;
Prone to pain, and serious folly,
And frames of self melancholy.
Thou dost wander light and free,
In thine own heart's company;
Making mirth wherever chance
May lead thee in thy mazy dance;
Like the linnet wild, that weaves
Glad liberty amid the leaves :
Little copier of the lives
Of thy playmate relatives,—
Mocker of the elder ones,-
How thy wayward fancy runs,
By light from thine own laughing eyes,
Its circle of sweet mimicries.
Oft in thy little face, I find
The flitting shadows of the mind
Pass and repass, as thou dost tease
That mind with infant sophistries :-
And then when no conclusion's near,
Thou, like a true philosopher,
Dost seek the joyous heart again,
And leave at rest the little brain.
Fare thee well, I've found in thee
Blithe and sweet society;
Merriment in drooping pain;
Pictures given back again
Of the pranks of childishness,
Ere I tasted of distress.
Fare thee well! may youth be slow
To pass from thee, who wear'st it so ;
For years are but the links of care,
To one so innocent and fair.
Around thee joy, within the truth,
Thou'rt worthy of perpetual youth !-
Worthy of that delight which lies
Within thy blue and pleasant eyes;
Worthy thy mother's fond caressing:-
I owe thee, Fanny, many a blessing,
For pranks of kindliness and glee,
And words of childish charity;
For pleasures generous, light, and many,-
And therefore do I bless thee, Fanny!
IT WAS NOT FOR THE DIAMOND RING.
It was not for the diamond ring upon your lily hand, It was not for your noble name, it was not for your
I saw no gem, no lordly name, no broad domain with
The day you stole my trusting heart and peace of mind from me.
You came-I knew not whence you came-we met'twas in the dance
There was honey in each word of yours, and glamour in each glance.
Though many were around me then, I nothing saw but him,
Before whose brow of starry sheen fresh-fallen snow were dim.
You're gone!—it was a weary night we parted at the
You swore by all the stars above, that you would soon return;
That you would soon return, light love! and I your bride should be;
But backward will the burnie roll, ere you come back
They say, that soon a smiling dame of lineage like to
Will take thee by the fickle hand, thy falsehood placed in mine;
The music and the rose-red wine to greet her will appear
For wedding song a sigh I'll have, for bridal pledge
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