In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men,—­an image was before mine eyes; there was silence, and I heard a voice.  JOB iv. 13.

  Reproach me not, beloved shade! 
  Nor think thy memory less I prize;
  The smiles that o’er my features play’d,
  But hid my pangs from vulgar eyes. 
  I acted like the worldling boy,
  With heart to every feeling vain: 
  I smil’d with all, yet felt no joy;
  I wept with all, yet felt no pain,

  No—­though, to veil thoughts of gloom,
  I seem’d to twine Joy’s rosy wreath,
  ’Twas but as flowerets o’er a tomb. 
  Which only hide the woe beneath. 
  I lose no portion of my woes,
  Although my tears in secret flow;
  More green and fresh the verdure grows,
  Where the cold streams run hid below.

A MODEST ODE TO FORTUNE.

“Et genus et formam regina pecunia donat.”  HOR.

  O Goddess Fortune, hear my prayer,
  And make a bard for once thy care! 
  I do not ask, in houses splendid,
  To be by liveried slaves attended;
  I ask not for estates, nor land,
  Nor host of vassals at command;
  I ask not for a handsome wife—­
  Though I dislike a single life;
  I ask not friends, nor fame, nor power,
  Nor courtly rank, nor leisure’s hour;
  I ask not books, nor wine, nor plate. 
  Nor yet acquaintance with the great;
  Nor dance, nor sons, nor mirth, nor jest,
  Nor treasures of the East or West;
  I ask not beauty, wit, nor ease,
  Nor qualities more blest than these—­
  Learning nor genius, skill nor art,
  Nor valour for the hero’s part;
  These, though I much desire to have,
  I do not, dearest goddess, crave.—­
  I modestly for MONEY call—­
  For money will procure them all!

ANACREONTIC.

  Come fill the bowl!—­one summer’s day,
  Some hearts, that had been wreck’d and sever’d,
  Again to tempt the liquid way,
  And join their former mates endeavour’d;
  But then arose this serious question. 
  Which best to kindred hearts would guide? 
  Water, was Prudence’ pure suggestion,
  But that they thought too cool a tide!

  Peace bade them try the milky way,
  But they were fearful ’twould becalm them;
  Cried Love, on dews of morning stray,—­
  They deem’d ’twould from their purpose charm them. 
  Cried Friendship, try the ruby tide,—­
  They did—­each obstacle departs;
  ’Tis still with wine ’reft hearts will glide
  Most surely unto kindred hearts.

THE PILGRIM PRINCE.—­BALLAD.

  At blush of morn, the silver horn
  Was loudly blown at the castle gate;
  And, from the wall, the Seneschal
  Saw there a weary pilgrim wait. 
  “What news—­what news, thou stranger bold? 
  Thy looks are rough, thy raiment old! 
  And little does Lady Isabel care
  To know how want and poverty fare.” 
  “Ah let me straight that lady see,
  For far I come from the North Country!”