of love.
She must not ask so much attention,
As many ladies I could mention;
But when I do not want to sway,
I'll always let her have her way;
And study to oblige her too,
When I have nothing else to do;
And am not tired, or wish to rest,
Or like some other plan the best,
For, more than this would be a task,
None but thy votaries would ask.
She must have riches, beauty, grace,
And modest sweetness in her face."
Just then he saw a scornful sneer
Upon Dan Cupid's face appear;
While courtiers whispered with a grin,
"Poor fellow, he'll be taken in!
The finest birds are always shy,
The rarest at a distance fly,
And Reason cannot soar so high."
"Aye, you may laugh, to prove her mind
At once exalted and refined,
I'll watch her skill in music's art;
By ear and fingers judge the heart,
And then it will not be believ'd
I can be easily deceiv'd.
I only grieve that in my prime
I've wasted so much precious time,
For long ere this I might have married,
Had I not so unwisely tarried,
And vex'd my brains in looking round
For that which never could be found."

"And would'st thou wish," the monarch cried,
"To set our gentle laws aside?
Thou hast no friend in Common Sense,
In such affairs she thinks it wisest,
To stand aside without pretence,
And sanction laws which thou despisest.
But try the plan, it merits praise,
Success may crown its winning ways!
The lady must be blind indeed,
With whom such offers of neglect,
And cool, habitual disrespect
Would not succeed.
But come no longer here to flout us,
Since, truly, thou canst do without us;
For dignity is lost in sport,
An outlaw for contempt of court;
We banish thee with all thy pride
Until thy heart be rarified."

XIX.

ABSENCE.

_Written in Derbyshire, by the same Friend._

--------

When recollection brings to mind,
The kindred ties I've left behind,
The converse gentle and refin'd,
I grieve!

Deep the regret, the pain extreme,
And yet I fondly love the dream,
And find the sad, delightful theme
Relieve.

It bids all present forms decay,
All present feelings fade away;
Impeding distance, long delay
Are o'er!

Fancy, so active in the gloom,
Till some one enters in the room,
Can all the images of home
Restore.

Alas! when weeks, and months are past,
Shall I that home behold at last,
Which even the dark