THE DOVE OF ANACREON.

SAY, lovely Dove, with arrowy force, Whence dost thou bend thy winged course? Whence over ether dost thou stray, Distilling odours on thy way?

Say who art thou? what thine employ? "Anacreon sent me to a boy,

The fair Bathyllus, he who reigns,

And holds all hearts in rosy chains.

Me for an ode, he sung so well,

Did Venus to the poet sell.

Hence o'er the trackless seas and lands

I execute his high commands ;
And now, as you behold, I bear
His letters through the fields of air:
And speedily, he vows to me,
His gratitude shall set me free.
But I, though freedom he might give,
His faithful slave would ever live,
Far happier with himself; say, why
O'er plains and mountains should I fly,

And sit on trees and pluck such food
As nature scatters through the wood?
Feasting on dainties now I stand
And seize them from Anacreon's hand;
And oft by turns delighted sip

The cup that passes from his lip:

And then when wine has had its measure,
I wheel around in dance of pleasure;
And oft in airy circles spread

My wings to shade my master's head.
And I, when sport at length may tire,
I sleep upon his far famed lyre.
Thus have I answer'd all you ask,
So leave me to fulfil my task;

For thou in thy desire to hear

Hast made me talk too long I fear."

QUATRAINS,

SUGGESTED BY VISITING BROMLEY HILL, THE SEAT OF THE RIGHT HON. LORD FARNBOROUGH*.

"All Elysium in a spot of ground."

DRYDEN.

WHILE here, entranced, we gaze around,
So exquisite the scene appears,
We almost might suppose the ground
Usurp'd from heavenly spheres.

But when we learn a mortal mind

Has plann'd these gardens, groves, and bowers,

And grace with elegance combined,

We own the enchantress' powers.

Hers was the magic spell which wrought
The miracles that here are seen,
These realms to such perfection brought,

And bade them hail her queen.

* The grounds at Bromley Hill were laid out entirely under the direction of Lady Farnborough.

Obedient all at her command,

Tree, flower, and shrub, in order placed, Speak of the lovely female hand

That wields the wand of taste.

They publish through these fairy lands The fame of her whose skill has spread And intertwined those viewless bands Which Art to Nature wed:

For each with each so closely blends,
Amazed, we pause in mute suspense,
Doubting where Nature's kingdom ends,
Where Art's domains commence.

From far-off climes and foreign shores,
Subjects of Flora's sway appear;
She lavishes her favourite stores

In rich profusion here.

But not alone is constant toil

Claim'd for the curious and the rare ;

The offspring of our native soil

Are nursed with equal care;

And mingling their more modest hues

With those exotic strangers show,

Their rival odours they diffuse,

And purer scent bestow.

Where yonder temple's rural seat

Woos the charm'd wanderer to repose,

With melody and music sweet,

A spring unfailing flows:

Forth from its sparry basin gush

The waters of that diamond source;
Then o'er the verdant velvet rush
To join the river's course.

The water-lily's dark green leaves
Thy gently gliding waves adorn;
While on thy breast its chalice heaves,
Pellucid Ravensbourne!

And, scatter'd round thy margent green,
In many a cool sequester'd spot,
With half closed azure eye, is seen
The meek forget-me-not.

Beyond, 'mid flowers in fragrant ranks,
Whose variegated tints unite

To decorate those turf-clad banks,

With ores and shell-work bright,

Uprear'd, two rustic altars rise,

(Sacred to nymphs who haunt the trees),

Offering in early sacrifice*

Oblations of heartsease.

Later in the summer other flowers are substituted for the heartsease.