An ear-ring you devise For your affianced girl; No diamond will suffice, Nor wealth of lustrous pearl, But call her "dearest dear," Swear nought your love shall sever, If true, you deck her ear With gems that shine for ever. THE GARDEN POOL. Charmed by the lily's golden eye, I rest upon this margin cool, And think what leagues of azure sky Are mirrored in the tiny pool. Delicious emblem of the mind Whose fancy rules this bright parterre, Ever 'mid sweetest flowers I find The depths of heaven reflected there. [Illustration] THE SCARECROW. "O Bella! what strange wight is there, Dark on the evening sky, With flowing cloak, and streaming hair, And head so grandly high? I feel a throbbing at my heart, For William 'tis too soon; See how he waves his arms apart Saluting the new moon! Oh, clear as daylight is the truth, Blinder than bats were we, It is the long-haired foreign youth Who sang last night to me. He sang of Fatherland and Rhine; Hush, O provoking cow! I heard the sweet preluding line, The whispering notes, I vow." But nearer as they drew to see, O phantasy forlorn! They find for love and melody A scarecrow in the corn. WE JUDGE OTHERS BY OURSELVES. Here within this golden grove, Paved with many a purple flower, Here I sit and wait my love Through the May-day's parting hour. Where the budding gnomons throw Lengthening shadows far and near, Mute I sit as man of snow, Till my darling's voice I hear. Ah! your mirth my passion stirs, Mine who am so old and frail; Bear with me, O lusty sirs! For my love's the nightingale. THE LAY FIGURE. Vanità che par persona.--DANTE, _Inf. 6_. There smirks in many a painter's room, With padded limbs and varnished face, A quaint machine that can assume Each attitude that art would trace. This doll adult, when featly tired, Can all that's great or fair display, Warrior, or dame, or saint inspired, Prince, troubadour, or lovely may. And far beyond the studio's bound, In court and camp, in church or mart, Living machines like this are found, Which lure the eye but mock the heart. On wooden-headed soulless guys We see such draping splendours thrust; But raise the robe, and all surprise Closes in pity and disgust. [Illustration] THE WINDMILL. That windmill with its sails at rest A thing immovable appears, And o'er the little hamlet nest The symbol of Salvation rears. But when its arms the breezes spurn, 'Tis Fortune's wheel we image there; Reared and depress'd they show in turn Hope, joy, dejection, and despair. Unstable souls, the Church at peace, Seem steadfast thus in high resolve, But in her storms and perils--these Through many a shifting phase revolve. FAIRIES AND FACTORIES.