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SAMUEL ROGERS.

ON A LADY ASLEEP.

SLEEP on, and dream of Heaven awhile. Though shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,

And move and breathe delicious sighs!

Ah! now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
And mantle o'er her neck of snow.
Ah! now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish-and fear to know.

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast.
-And now, how like a saint she sleeps!
A seraph in the realms of rest!

Sleep on secure! Above controul,

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee!

And may the secret of thy soul

Remain within its sanctuary!

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

SONNET.

Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely maid
Whom fancy still will portray to my sight,
How here I linger in this sullen shade,
This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
Say, that, from ev'ry joy of life remote,
At evening's closing hour I quit the throng,
Listening in solitude the ring-dove's note
Who pours like me her solitary song.
Say, that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
Say, that of all her charms I love to speak,
In fancy feel the magic of her eye,

In fancy view the smile illume her cheek,

Court the lone hour when silence stills the grove,

And heave the sigh of Memory and of Love.

SONNET.

I PRAISE thee not, Ariste, that thine eye
Knows each emotion of the soul to speak;
That lilies with thy face might fear to vie,
And roses can but emulate thy cheek;
I praise thee not because thine auburn hair
In native tresses wantons on the wind;

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Nor yet because that face, surpassing fair,
Bespeaks the inward excellence of mind :—
'Tis that soft charm thy minstrel's heart has won,
That mild meek goodness that perfects the rest :
Soothing and soft it steals upon the breast,
As the soft radiance of the setting sun,
When varying through the purple hues of light
The fading orbit smiles serenely bright.

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How can I sing of fragrant sighs

I ne'er have felt from thee?
How can I sing of smiling eyes
That ne'er have smiled on me?

The heart, 'tis true, may fancy much,
But, oh! 'tis cold and seeming—
One moment's real, rapturous touch

Is worth an age of dreaming!

Think'st thou, when Julia's lip and breast

Inspired my youthful tongue,

I coldly spoke of lips unprest,

Nor felt the heaven I sung?

No, no, the spell that warmed so long

Was still my Julia's kiss.

And still the girl was paid in song

What she had given in bliss!

Then beam one burning smile on me,
And I will sing those eyes;

Let me but feel a breath from thee,
And I will praise thy sighs.

That rosy mouth alone can bring
What makes the bard divine-

Oh, lady! how my lip would sing,
If once 't were prest to thine!

OH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF
OUR OWN!

OH! had we some bright little isle of our own,

In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone,

Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,

And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers;

Where the sun loves to pause
With so fond a delay,

That the night only draws

A thin veil o'er the day;

Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give!

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, We should love, as they loved in the first golden time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air,

Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there! With affection as free

From decline as the bowers,

And with Hope, like the bee,

Living always on flowers,

Our life should resemble a long day of light,
And our death come on, holy and calm, as the night!

I'D MOURN THE HOPES.

I'D mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,
If thou wert, like them, untrue.

But, while I've thee before me,

With heart so warm and eyes so bright,

No clouds can linger o'er me,—

That smile turns them all to light!

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