Then bid the wand’ring star
    Within the zodiac move;
  ’Twere task more hard by far
    To guide the course of love.

  Stop the meridian flight
    Of Jove’s proud plumy race;
  Arrest the fiercest fight
    When foe-men battle face.

  Forbid the earth to turn. 
    Forbid the tides to flow,
  Forbid the sun to burn,
    Forbid the winds to blow.

  Bid the fix’d orb of day. 
    Beyond his sphere to move,
  Or cease th’ attempt, I pray,
    To stop the course of love.

T.F.

* * * * *

I’LL BE AT YOUR BALL

(For the Mirror.)

Ah! ce n’est pas moi qui romprait la premiere l’union sacree de nos coeurs; vous le savez bien que ce n’est pas moi, et je rougirais presque, d’assurer ce qui n’est que trop certain.—­Corinne, par Madame de STAEL.

  I’ll be at your ball—­dear Eliza,
    Could you doubt of my wish to be there,
  When ask’d by the maiden I prize a-
    Bove all maidens, though e’er so fair? 
  Busy fancy brings back in my dreams
    The walks, still enchanting, we took,
  When the zephyrs scarce ruffled the streams,
    No sound heard, save the murm’ring brook;
  The stars we together have watched—­
    What pleasure these thoughts do recall! 
  Believe that your truly attached,
    Dear Eliza, will be at your ball.

  Can study those feelings estrange,
    Of affection so ardent and true? 
  Or absence or time ever change
    A heart so devoted to you? 
  My voice may have altered its tone,
    My brow may be furrow’d by care,
  But, oh, dearest girl, there are none
    Possess of my heart the least share. 
  You say that my hair is neglected,
    That my dress don’t become me at all;
  Can you feel surprised I’m dejected,
    Since I parted from you at your ball?

  I listlessly turn o’er the pages. 
    So fraught with amusement before
  Tasso, Dante, and even the sages,
    Once pleasing, are pleasing no more. 
  When I walk on the banks of the Mole,
    Or recline ’neath our favourite tree,
  As the needle is true to the pole,
    So my thoughts still concentre in thee. 
  Old Time moves so slow, he appears,
    “With age quite decrepit,” to crawl;
  And days seem now lengthen’d to years,
    Before we shall meet—­at your ball.

Daft Jamie.

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

* * * * *

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

Having occasionally (during my lucubrations) marked out sundry choice excerpts, quips, and quiddities, from a variety of authors, I shall, with your permission, submit to the reader an occasional chapter, with a few original remarks, &c., which I hope will prove agreeable.

    Jacobus.