"But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit!" he said, "Be at home after midnight, and then "I will come when your lady's in bed, "And we'll talk o'er the subject again."

So she whisper'd a word in his ear,
I suppose to her door to direct him,
And, just after midnight, my dear,

Your polite little Soul may expect him.

TO ROSA.

WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS.

THE wisest soul, by anguish torn,

Will soon unlearn the lore it knew ; And when the shrining casket's worn, gem within will tarnish too.

The

But love's an essence of the soul,

Which sinks not with this chain of clay;

Which throbs beyond the chill control
Of with'ring pain or pale decay.

And surely, when the touch of Death
Dissolves the spirit's earthly ties,

Love still attends th' immortal breath,
And makes it purer for the skies!

Oh Rosa, when, to seek its sphere,
My soul shall leave this orb of men,
That love which form'd its treasure here,

Shall be its best of treasures then!

And as, in fabled dreams of old,

Some air-born genius, child of time, Presided o'er each star that roll'd,

And track'd it through its path sublime;

So thou, fair planet, not unled,

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed, Shall linger round thy earthly way.

Let other spirits range the sky,

And play around each starry gem;
I'll bask beneath that lucid eye,
Nor envy worlds of suns to them.

And when that heart shall cease to beat, And when that breath at length is free, Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet,

And mingle to eternity!

SONG.

THE wreath you wove, the wreath you wove

Is fair but oh, how fair,

If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love

One leaf to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,
Did gems for dewdrops fall,

One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd
Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove

Our emblem well may be ;

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love

Must keep its tears for me.

THE SALE OF LOVES.

I DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves,
My nets by moonlight laying,
I caught a flight of wanton Loves,
Among the rose-beds playing.
Some just had left their silv'ry shell,
While some were full in feather;

So pretty a lot of Loves to sell,
Were never yet strung together.

Come buy my Loves,

Come buy my Loves,

Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses!

They're new and bright,

The cost is light,

For the coin of this isle is kisses.

First Cloris came, with looks sedate,
The coin on her lips was ready;

"I buy," quoth she, "my Love by weight,

"Full grown, if you please, and steady."