FETE CHAMPETRE, BY F. DANBY, ESQ., A.

A Fragment.

Ir is a quiet spot, and far removed

From the loud city's hum. A broad clear stream,

Bright as the skies reflected on its breast,

And calm as summer when the day has died

Into the dewy, deep repose of eve,

Wanders for ever, "at its own sweet will,"

Through gay enamelled meads, and pastures green!
Tall trees arise with their green spreading heads,
Like guardian genii of enchanted land,

To centinel the scene. Beneath their shade
Gay forms are lightly tripping through the dance
With more than earthly grace. Is it some band
Of fairy revellers-or do the sprites

Of him of Sherwood, and his merry men,

In Lincoln green bedight, keep revel here ?

The prize is won-the friendly strife is o'er :

The only arrows that are winging now,

Glance from bright eyes, and pierce the willing soul,— Love's archery, that never fails its aim.

LOVE TORMENTING THE SOUL.

J.

YOUNG tyrant, and young torturer!

Young Love! how can it be,

That such extremes and opposites

Should meet and mix in thee?

II.

Thou of the rainbow wing! whose reign

Is as the colours there,

If thou hadst such delight in pain,

Thou could'st not be so fair.

III.

I looked upon thy morning cheek,

Thy lip with ruby dyed,

And then I blamed thy painted task,

And said thou wert belied.

* See the title-page.

IV.

Methought I would go forth awhile,

And track thy steps of flame,

Henceforth my young lute should be vowed To vindicate thy name.

V.

I paused beside a convent grate,

I heard a mournful tone,

The maiden's cheek was very pale,

Her eye's blue light was gone;

VI.

For tears had washed the rose and light

Away from cheek and eye;

She knelt before the crucifix,

And only prayed to die.

VII.

The maiden's tale was quickly told—

Of love that could forsake,

Of a fond heart that beat too true,

And then could only break.

VIII.

I saw a young knight spur his steed

Amid the thickest fight;

It was not for the warrior's meed,

Nor for his country's right: