"Dost thou not see,—or art thou blind with age,

How many Graces on her eyelids sit,

Linking those viewless chains that bind the soul,

And sharpening smooth discourse with pointed wit;
How many where she moves attendant wait,

The slow smooth step inspire, or high commanding gait?

"Each one a several charm around her throws,

Some to attract, some powerful to repell,

Some mix the honeyed speech with winning smiles,

Or call wild Laughter from his antic cell;

Severer some, to strike with awful fear

Each rude licentious tongue that wounds the virtuous ear.

"Not one of them is of thy scythe in dread, Or for thy cankered malice careth aught,

Thy shaking fingers never can untwist

The magic cæstus by their cunning wrought; And I, their knight, their bidding must obey, For where the Graces are, will Love for ever stay.

"In my rich fields now boast the ravage done,

Those lesser spoils,—her brow, her cheek, her hair,

All that the touches of decay can feel,

Take these, she has enough besides to spare;

I cannot thee dislodge, nor shalt thou me,

So thou and I, old Time, perforce must once agree.

"Nor is the boasted ravage all thine own,

Nor was the field by conquest fairly gained;

For leagued with Sickness, Life and Nature's foe,

That fiend accurst thy savage wars maintained;

His hand the furrows sunk where thou didst plough,

He undermined the tree, where thou didst shake the bough.

But both unite, for both I here defy;

Spoil ye have made, but have no triumphs won;

And though the daffodil more freshly blooms,

Spreading her gay leaves to the morning sun,

Yet never will I leave the faded rose,

Whilst the pale lovely flower such sweetness still bestows."

This said, exulting Cupid clapped his wings.

The sullen power, who found his rage restrained, And felt the strong controul of higher charms, Shaking his glass, vowed while the sands would run For many a year the strife should be maintained: But Jove decreed no force should Love destroy,

Nor time should quell the might of that immortal boy.

TO MISS F. B.

ON HER ASKING FOR MRS. B.'S "LOVE AND TIME.”

Or Love and Time say what would Fanny know?
That Time is precious, and that Love is sweet?
That both, the choicest blessings lent below,
With gay Sixteen in envied union meet?

Time without Love is tasteless, dull, and cold,
Love out of Time will fond and doting prove;

To bright sixteen are all their treasures told,

Love suits the Time, and Time then favours Love.

No longer then of matron brows inquire

For sprightly Love, or swiftly-wasting Time;
Look but at home, you have what you require,—
With gay sixteen they both are in their prime.

TOMORROW.

SEE where the falling day

In silence steals away

Behind the western hills withdrawn:

Her fires are quenched, her beauty fled, While blushes all her face o'erspread,

As conscious she had ill fulfilled

The promise of the dawn.

Another morning soon shall rise,

Another day salute our eyes,
As smiling and as fair as she,
And make as many promises :

But do not thou

The tale believe,

They're sisters all,

And all deceive.