XVII.

THE SMILE AND THE TEAR,

From the Opera of False Alarms.

BY JAMES KENNEY.

1

SAID a Smile to a Tear,

On the cheek of my dear,

Which beam'd like the sun in spring weather, "In truth, lovely Tear,

"It strange doth appear, "That we should be both here together."

2

"I came from the heart

"A soft balm to impart,

"To yonder sad daughter of Grief:"

"And I," said the Smile,

"That heart to beguile,

"Since you gave

the sad mourner relief."

3

"Oh then," said the Tear,

"Sweet Smile, it is clear,

"We're twins, and soft Pity our mother;

"And how lovely that face,

"Which together we grace,

"For the woe and the bliss of another."

XVIII.

BEAUTY.

The wind passeth over it, and it is gone.

1

I SAW a dew drop, cold and clear,
Dance on a myrtle spray;

Fair colours deck'd the lucid tear,
Like those which gleam and disappear
When showers and sunbeams play.-

SOL cast athwart a glance severe,

And scorch'd the pearl away.

2

High on a slender polished stem,
A fragrant lily grew:

On the pure petals many a gem
Glitter'd a native diadem

Of healthy morning dew:

A blast of lingering winter came,
And snapp'd the stem in two.

3

Fairer than Morning's early tear,
Or lily's snowy bloom,

Shines Beauty in its vernal year:

Bright, sparkling, fascinating, clear,
Gay, thoughtless of its doom!
Death breathes a sudden poison near,
And sweeps it to the tomb!

XIX.

THE BRITISH VINE.

BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY.

1

SWEET Vine! whose curling tendrils cling

My humble walls along,
Accept the votive strain I bring-

No Bacchanalian song.

2

Though Nature never cherish'd thee
On Arno's sunny side,

Where, midst her rich redundancy,
She sports in purple pride-

3

Though ne'er for me thy clusters shed
Their floods of generous wine,

To swell the midnight bowl, and bid
Illusive visions shine-

4

Thy scallop'd foliage still for me

Has solitary charms;

And guiltless ever shalt thou be

Of riots and alarms.

5

Domestic Love beneath thy shade
Shall rest her turtle-wing;
And Peace her soothing serenade,
Uninterrupted, sing.

6

Then long, sweet Vine! thy arms extend,
To grace my homely bow'r ;
And I will own thee as the friend
Of life's most lovely hour.

XX.

MY ARBOUR.

1

THE sweet-briar, the suckling, the jasmine

and rose

With their shade and their sweets my lov'd Arbour compose.

O there I retreat from the sun's scorching ray, Or taste the fresh breeze in the cool of the day; There the black bird o'er head pours his sweet mellow song,

The nightingale his varied notes will prolong; At morning or noon, in the evening or night, My Arbour is still the lov'd scene of delight.

2

With a book there I often my leisure employ,
Or in friendship convivial an hour I enjoy ;
There tea its society sweet will afford,
Or supper present its plain plentiful board.
We behold in her glory the bright silver moon,
As majestic she rides in her journey's high
noon ;*

In the morning, &c.

3

The cares of the world never trouble my mind, All is calm and serene-to my lot I'm resign'd; War's murmurs are hush'd ere my Arbour they reach,

Or are heard but the lesson of pity to teach.+

*To behold the wand'ring moon,

Riding near her highest noon.

IL PENSEROSO.

+ Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease

The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd