THE BEAUTIES OF THE POETESSES.

Mary Tighe.

FROM "PSYCHE."

WHEN pleasure sparkles in the cup of youth,
And the gay hours on downy wing advance,
Oh! then 'tis sweet to hear the lip of truth
Breathe the soft vows of love, sweet to entrance
The raptured soul by intermingling glance
Of mutual bliss ; sweet amid roseate bowers,
Led by the hand of love to weave the dance,
Or unmolested crop life's fairy fowers,

Or bask in joy's bright sun through calm, unclouded hours.

Yet they, who, light of heart in May-day pride,
Meet love with smiles and gaily amorous song,
(Though he their softest pleasures may provide,
Even then when measures in full concert throng)

They cannot know with what enchantment strong He steals upon the tender suffering soul,

What gently soothing chains to him belong,

How melting sorrow owns his soft control, Subsiding passions hushed in milder waves to roll.

When vexed by cares, and harrassed by distress,
The storms of Fortune chill thy soul with dread,
Let love, consoling love! still sweetly bless,
And his assuasive balm benignly shed;
His downy plumage o'er thy pillow spread,
Shall lull thy weeping sorrows to repose;
To love the tender heart hath ever filed,

As on its mother's breast the infant throws,
Its sobbing face, and there in sleep forgets its woes.

LINES,

ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON.

ODOURS of spring, my sense ye charm,
With fragrance premature,
And 'mid these days of dark alarm,

Almost to hope allure.

Methinks with purpose soft ye come,
To tell of brighter hours,

Of May's blue skies, abundant bloom,
Her sunny gales and showers.

Alas! for me shall May in vain

The powers of life restore;

These eyes that weep

and watch in pain,

Shall see her charms no more.

No, no, this anguish cannot last;

Beloved friends adieu;

The bitterness of death were past,
Could I resign but you.

Oh! ye who soothe the pangs of death
With love's own patient care,
Still, still retain this fleeting breath,
Still pour the fervent prayer.

And ye, whose smiles must greet my eye
No more, nor voice my ear,

Who breathe for me the tender sigh,
And shed the pitying tear;

Whose kindness, though far, far removed,
Thy grateful thoughts perceive;
Pride of my life-esteemed, beloved,

My last sad claim receive!

Oh, do not quite your friend forget

Forget alone her faults;

And speak of her with fond regret,

Who asks your lingering thoughts.