SONG.

SHE is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be,

Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smil'd on me;

Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply,

And yet I cease not to behold

The love-light in her eye:

Her very

frowns are fairer far,

Than smiles of other maidens are.

EPITAPH.

ON A MOTHER AND THREE INFANTS.

FROM God they came, to God they went again; No sin they knew, and knew but little pain: And here they lie, by their fond mother's side, Who lived to love and lose them, then she died.

VOL. I.

F

LEONARD AND SUSAN.

THEY were a gentle pair, whose love began They knew not when-they knew not of a time When they loved not. In the mere sentient life Of unremember'd infancy, whose speech, Like secret love's, is only smiles and tears, The baby Leonard clapp'd his little hands, Leapt in his nurse's arms, and crow'd aloud When Susan was in sight, and utter'd sounds Most strange and strangely sweet, that nothing meant But merely joy, as in the green-wood tree The merry merle awakes his thrilling song,

Soon as the cool breath of the vernal dawn

Stirs the light leaflets on the motionless boughs.
Mute as the shadow of a passing bird

On glassy lake, the gentle Susan lay,

Hush'd in her meek delight. A dimpled smile
Curl'd round her tiny, rosy mouth, and seem'd
To sink, as light, into her soft full eyes,-
A quiet smile, that told of happiness

Her infant soul investing, as the bud
Infolds the petals of the nascent rose.

Born in one week, and in one font baptized On the same festal day-they grew together, And their first tottering steps were hand in hand, While the two fathers, in half-earnest sport, Betroth'd them to each other.

Then 'twas sweet

For mother's ears, to hear them lisp and try
At the same words, each imitating each;
But Leonard was the babe of nimbler tongue,
And Sister Susan' was the first plain phrase
His utterance master'd-by that dear kind name
He call'd the maid, supplying so a place
Which Nature had left void. An only child
Of a proud mother and a high-born sire,
Full soon he learn'd to mount a palfrey small,
Of that dwarf race that prance unclaim'd and free
O'er the bleak pastures of the Shetland Isles.
And who may tell his glory or his pride
When Susan, by her mother's arms upheld,

Sat, glad though fearful, on the courser's rear,
While he, exulting in his dauntless skill,
Rein'd its short testy neck, and froward mouth,
Taming its wilful movement to the pace

That palfrey suits of wandering lady fair?

Bold were his looks, his speech was bold and shrill,

His smooth round cheeks glow'd with a ruddy brown, And dark the curls that cluster'd o'er his head, Knotty and close. In every pliant limb

A noble boy's ambitious manliness

Elastic sprung.

Yet child more loving, fond,

Ne'er sought the refuge of a parent's side.

But Susan was not one of many

words,

Nor loud of laughter; and she moved as soft
As modest Nymphs, in work of artist rare,
Seem moving ever. In her delicate eye
And damask cheek there dwelt a grace retired,
A prophecy of pensive womanhood.

And yet, in sooth, she was a happy child;
And, though the single treasure of her house,
She neither miss'd a brother's love, nor lack'd
The blest emotions of a sister's soul.

She thought no sister loved a brother more
Than she her brother Leonard-him who show'd
The strawberry lurking in the mossy shade,
The nest in leafy thicket dark embower'd,
The squirrel's airy bound. No bliss he knew,
No toy had he-no pretty property—

No dog-no bird-no fit of childish wrath,
That was not hers. The wild and terrible tales
His garrulous old nurse o'ernight had told,

He duly in the morning told to her,

With comments manifold; and when seven years

Made him a student of learn'd Lilly's page,
With simple, earnest, kindly vanity,
He fill'd her wondering ear with all his lore
Of tense, and conjugation, noun, and verb;
Searching the word-book for all pretty names,
All dainty, doating, dear diminutives.

Which the old Romans used to woo withal.

So pass'd those happy seasons, when no law
Of jealous custom, no suspected harm
Bids fresh virginity beware of man ;

And, like two sexless bees, from flower to flower,
They wander'd unreproved. But soon an age
Of fearful wishes found the spotless pair,
And Susan felt, unprompted, that the name
Of sister was not hers by right of kind.
Reserv'd she grew, and though she thought no ill,
She sigh'd in fear, and strove to frame her speech
To formal phrase of maiden courtesy.

Sore wonder'd Leonard at her mien constrain'd,
Her flitting blush, her intermitted words,
That seem'd unwelcome strangers to her lips,
And to her thought unknown. Why thus withdrawn
Her trembling hand, that wont in his to lie,
Still as the brooding warbler in her nest,

Close as the soft leaves of the rose unblown?

Why shrinks she from his kiss, his watchful gaze,