Her shadow, in uneasy guise,
Hover'd about, a giant size,
On ceiling-beam and old oak chair,
The parrot's cage, and panel square ;
And the warm angled winter-screen,
On which were many monsters seen,
Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice,
And legless birds of Paradise,
Macaw, and tender Av'davat,

And silken-furr'd Angora cat.
Untired she read, her shadow still
Glower'd about, as it would fill

The room with wildest forms and shades,
As though some ghostly queen of spades
Had come to mock behind her back,
And dance, and ruffle her garments black.
Untired she read the legend page,
Of holy Mark, from youth to age,
On land, on sea, in pagan chains,
Rejoicing for his many pains.
Sometimes the learned eremite,
With golden star, or dagger bright,

Referr'd to pious poesies

Written in smallest crow-quill size Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme

Was parcell'd out from time to time:

Men han beforne they wake in bliss,

Whanne that hir friendes thinke him bound

In crimped shroude farre under grounde ; And how a litling child mote be

A saint er its nativitie,

Gif that the modre (God her blesse !)
Kepen in solitarinesse,

And kissen devoute the holy croce.
Of Goddes love, and Sathan's force,-
He writith; and thinges many mo
Of swiche thinges I may not shew.
Bot I must tellen verilie

Somdel of Saintè Cicilie,

And chieflie what he auctorethe
Of Sainte Markis life and dethe:"

At length her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom ;

Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine

At Venice,

TO FANNY.

PHYSICIAN Nature! let my spirit blood!
O ease my heart of verse and let me rest ;
Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.
A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme;
Let me begin my dream.

I come I see thee, as thou standest there,
Beckon me not into the wintry air.

Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all

my

fears,

And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries,-
To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears
A smile of such delight,

As brilliant and as bright,

As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes,

Lost in soft amaze,

I gaze, I gaze!

Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast? What stare outfaces now my silver moon!

Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least;

Let, let, the amorous burn

But, pr'ythee, do not turn

The current of your heart from me so soon.

O! save, in charity,

The quickest pulse for me.

Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe Voluptuous visions into the warm air,

Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath;

Be like an April day,

Smiling and cold and gay, A temperate lily, temperate as fair;

Then, Heaven! there will be

A warmer June for me.

Why, this you'll say, my Fanny! is not true:
Put your soft hand upon your snowy side,
Where the heart beats: confess-'tis nothing new-
Must not a woman be

A feather on the sea,

Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?

Of as uncertain speed

As blow-ball from the mead?

I know it—and to know it is despair

To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny! Whose heart goes flutt'ring for you every where, Nor, when away you roam,

Dare keep its wretched home,

Love, love alone, his pains severe and many:

Then, loveliest! keep me free,

From torturing jealousy.

Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above

The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour;
Let none profane my Holy See of love,

Or with a rude hand break

The sacramental cake:

Let none else touch the just new-budded flower; If not-may my eyes close,

Love! on their lost repose.