Zephyr and Flora emulous conspire

To breathe their graces o'er the field's attire ;
The one gives healthful freshness, one the hue,
Fairer than e'er creative pencil drew.

Pale as the lovesick hopeless maid they dye
The modest violet; from the curious eye
The modest violet turns her gentle head,
And by the thorn weeps o'er her lowly bed;
Bending beneath the tears of pearly dawn
The snow-white lily glitters o'er the lawn;
Lo, from the bough reclines the damask rose,
And o'er the lily's milk-white bosom glows;
Fresh in the dew far o'er the painted dales,
Each fragrant herb her sweetest scent exhales;
The hyacinth bewrays the doleful Ai,
And calls the tribute of Apollo's sigh;

Still on its bloom the mournful flower retains
The lovely blue that dyed the stripling's veins.
Pomona fired with rival envy views

The glaring pride of Flora's darling hues;
Where Flora bids the purple iris spread,

She hangs the wilding's blossom white and red;
Where wild thyme purples, where the daisy snows
The curving slopes, the melon's pride she throws;
Where by the stream the lily of the vale,
Primrose, and cowslip meek, perfume the gale,
Beneath the lily and the cowslip's bell
The scarlet strawberries luxuriant swell.
Nor these alone the teeming Eden yields,
Each harmless bestial crops the flowery fields;
And birds of every note and every wing
Their loves responsive through the branches sing;
In sweet vibration thrilling o'er the skies,
High-poised in air the lark his warbling tries;

The swan slow sailing o'er the crystal lake
Tunes his melodious note; from every brake
The glowing strain the nightingale returns,
And in the bowers of love the turtle mourns.
Pleased to behold his branching horns appear,
O'er the bright fountain bends the fearless deer;
The hare starts trembling from the bushy shade,
And, swiftly circling, crosses oft the glade.
Where from the rocks the bubbling founts distill,
The milkwhite lambs come bleating down the hill;
The dappled heifer seeks the vales below,
And from the thicket springs the bounding doe.
To his loved nest, on fondly fluttering wings,
In chirping bill the little songster brings

The food untasted; transport thrills his breast;
'Tis nature's touch; 'tis instinct's heavenlike feast.
Thus bower and lawn were deck'd with Eden's

flowers,

And song and joy imparadised the bowers.

MICKLE.

ODE.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS.

EVER gliding to the sea

Flow the waters fair and free

Of clear Mondego tranquil through the plain : Anxious thoughts and growing care

Bound my youthful bosom there,

And slowly fixed their ever during reign.

Along the pleasant margin green,
Where now I mourn the alter'd scene,
First did my eyes a nymph behold
Brighter than snow, and pure as gold;

Sweet smiles serene, and grace so well display'd,
That from my heart its form will never fade.

In this country, deck'd with flowers,
Blithely roll'd my peaceful hours,

In calm contentment, unalloy'd with sighs:
Then I gloried in my cares;

Rapture sweeten'd even the tears

Drawn by the beam of those love-darting eyes.
Time flowed, nor I its lapse perceived,
Long by delusive hope deceived;

I sported in life's cheerful ray,

And dream'd of bliss from day to day.
What now avail those joys too quickly flown!
Those eyes that with unrival'd lustre shone!

Who could then have bade me deem
Time would break our pleasant dream,
And the deep spell of love at once divide!
Or that in this world forlorn

I from thee should e'er be torn,

From thee, dear lady, from my bosom's pride! At that dark hour fate's adverse strife

For ever closed my scene of life;

All hope in one sad moment flown,

Vain thoughts of bliss for ever gone;

And nothing left, save memory of joy,

Which ne'er will quit me, but at length destroy.

Still beneath this weight of woe

Some fond thoughts of comfort grow,

Some cheering rays amid the darkness shine:

While in happier hours of youth

Love approved our constant truth,

[mine;

Thy soul was calm, thy breast ne'er glow'd like

The fatal hour which bade us part
Wounds not alike thy tender heart;
And light to me the pangs I bear,
Compared with knowing thy despair:

My knell will soon be rung; thou, lady, live,
And taste the joys which youth and beauty give!

HON. W. HERBERT.

STANZAS.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS.

I SAW the virtuous man contend
With life's unnumber'd woes;
And he was poor-without a friend-
Press'd by a thousand foes.

I saw the Passions' pliant slave
In gallant trim, and gay;

His course was Pleasure's placid wave,
His life a summer's day.

And I was caught in Folly's snare,
And join'd her giddy train—
But found her soon the nurse of Care,
And Punishment, and Pain.

There surely is some guiding Power
Which rightly suffers wrong-
Gives Vice to bloom its little hour-

But Virtue, late and long.

LORD STRANGFORD.

SONNETS FROM CAMOENS.

WATERS of Tejo, gentle streams, that flow
Through these fair meads, refreshing as ye go
Herbage and flowers and flocks, and with delight
Soothing the nymphs and shepherds on your shore,
I know not, gentle river, when my sight
Shall linger on your pleasant waters more.
And now I turn me from you, sad at heart,
Hopeless that fate my future lot will bless;
That evil fate which bids me now depart
Converts remember'd joy to wretchedness.
The thought of you, dear waters! oft will rise;
And Memory oft will see you in her dreams,
When I on other airs shall breathe my sighs,
And drop far off my tears in other streams.

WHEN I behold you, lady! when my eyes
Dwell on the deep enjoyment of your sight,
I give my spirit to that one delight,
And earth appears to me a paradise.

And when I hear you speak, and see you smile,
Full, satisfied, absorb'd, my centred mind
Deems all the world's vain hopes and joys the
As empty as the unsubstantial wind: [while
Lady, I feel your charms, yet dare not raise
To that high theme, the unequal song of praise,
A power for that to language was not given;
Nor marvel I, when I those beauties view,
Lady, that he whose power created you
Could form the stars and yonder glorious heaven.