bs to stay;
Then bathes in honey-dews, and sleeps in flowers;
Meanwhile, young _Oberon_, girt with shadowy powers,
Pursues o'er Ocean's verge the pale cold Moon,
Or hymns her, riding in her highest noon.

Thus graced, thus glorified, shall SHAKSPEARE crave
The Sculptor's skill, the pageant of the grave?
HE needs it not--but Gratitude demands
This votive offering at his Country's hands.
Haply, e'er now, from blissful bowers on high,
From some Parnassus of the empyreal sky,
Pleased, o'er this dome the gentle Spirit bends,
Accepts the gift, and hails us as his friends--
Yet smiles, perchance, to think when envious Time
O'er Bust and Urn shall bid his ivies climb,
When Palaces and Pyramids shall fall--
HIS PAGE SHALL TRIUMPH--still surviving all--
'Till Earth itself, "like breath upon the wind,"
Shall melt away, "nor leave a rack behind!"

IMPROMPTU, TO ORIANA.

ON ATTENDING WITH HER, AS SPONSORS, AT A CHRISTENING

Lady! who didst--with angel-look and smile,
And the sweet lustre of those dear, dark eyes,
Gracefully bend before the font of Christ,
In humble adoration, faith, and prayer!
Oh!--as the infant pledge of friends beloved
Received from thy pure lips its future name,
Sweetly unconscious look'd the baby-boy!
How beautifully helpless--and how mild!
--Methought, a seraph spread her shelt'ring wings
Over the solemn scene; and as the sun,
In its full splendour, on the altar came,
God's blessing seem'd to sanctify the deed.

TO MY SPANIEL FANNY.

Fanny! were all the world like thee,
How cheerly then this life would glide,
Dear emblem of Fidelity!
Long may'st thou grace thy master's side.

Long cheer his hours of solitude,
With watchful eye each wish to learn,
And anxious speechless gratitude
Hail with delight each short sojourn.

When sick at heart, thy welcome home
A weary load of grief dispels,
Gladdens with hope the hours to come,
And yet a mournful lesson tells!

To find _thee_ ever faithful, kind,
My guard by night, my friend by day,
While those in friendship more refined
Have with my fortunes flown away.

Why bounteous nature hast thou given
To this poor _Brute_--a boon so kind
As constancy--bless'd gift of Heaven!
And MAN--to waver like the wind?

WIDOWED LOVE.[1]

Tell me, chaste spirit! in yon orb of light,
Which seems to wearied souls an ark of rest,
So calm, so peaceful, so divinely bright--
Solace of broken hearts, the mansion of the bless'd