Yes, woman's love is free from guile

And pure as bright Aurora's ray; The heart will melt before her smile,

And base-born passions fade away! Were I the monarch of the earth, Or master of the swelling sea,

I would not estimate their worth,

Dear woman, half the price of thee.

LINES

AFTER THE MANNER OF THE OLDEN TIME.

OH Love! the mischief thou hast done!
Thou god of pleasure and of pain!
None can escape thee-yes, there's one !—
All others wear thy heavy chain !
Thou cause of all my smiles and tears!
Thou blight and bloom of all my years!

Thy throne's the heart, despotick boy! And there thou reign'st without control; Thy frown is grief, thy glance is joy—

Thy smile the sunbeam of the soul. The buds of spring, the leaves of fall, Thou wearest in thy coronal!

Love maketh glad or maketh sad—

Love is a tyrant and a slave!

The bad makes good-the good makes bad

The coward nerves-appals the brave!— Love glistens in the maiden's eyes,

And breathes in kisses, sobs and sighs!

Love bathes him in the morning's dews,
Reclines him in the lily's bell-
Reposes in the rainbow's hues,

And bubbles in the crystal well;

Or hies him to the coral caves,

Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves.

Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune,
With fays and fairies lingers he—
Gleams in the ring of th' watery moon,
Or treads the pebbles of the sea :
Love enters "court and camp and grove;"

Oh, every where we meet thee, Love!

And everywhere he welcome finds,

To cottage-door or palace-porchLove enters free as spicy-winds,

With purple wings and lighted torch; With tripping feet and silvery tongue, And bow and darts behind him slung!

He tinkles in the shepherd's bell,

And charms the village maiden's ear;

By lattice high he weaves his spell
For ladye-fair and cavalier.

As sunbeams melt the mountain snow,
So melts Love's rays the high and low.

Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why,
Since Love is roaming as the air,
Why does he not to Lelia fly,

And warm that cold and haughty fair?

Scorn rules alone her swelling heart :

She scoffs at Love and all his art!

C

Oh, boy-god, Love!-an archer thouThy utmost skill I feign would test; One arrow aim at Lelia now,

And let thy target be her breast! Around her heart, oh fling thy chain, Or give me back my own again!