"Fearful is the weird that forced me hither, From the dark-heap'd chamber where I lay; Powerless are your drowsy anthems, neither Can your priests prevail, howe'er they pray. Salt nor lymph can cool Where the pulse is full; Love must still burn on, though wrapp'd in clay. XXV. "To this youth my early troth was plighted, Whilst yet Venus ruled within the land; Mother! and that vow ye falsely slighted, At your new and gloomy faith's command. But no God will hear, If a mother swear Pure from love to keep her daughter's hand. XXVI. "Nightly from my narrow chamber driven, Come I to fulfil my destined part, Him to seek for whom my troth was given, And to draw the life blood from his heart. He hath served my will; More I yet must kill, For another prey I now depart. XXVII. "Fair young man! thy thread of life is broken, Human skill can bring no aid to thee. There thou hast my chain--a ghastly token-- And this lock of thine I take with me. Soon must thou decay, Soon wilt thou be gray, Dark although to-night thy tresses be. XXVIII. "Mother! hear, oh hear my last entreaty! Let the funeral pile arise once more; Open up my wretched tomb for pity, And in flames our souls to peace restore. When the ashes glow, When the fire-sparks flow, To the ancient gods aloft we soar." * * * * * After this most powerful and original ballad, let us turn to something more genial. The three following poems are exquisite specimens of the varied genius of our author; and we hardly know whether to prefer the plaintive beauty of the first, or the light and sportive brilliancy of the other twain. FIRST LOVE. Oh, who will bring me back the day, So beautiful, so bright! Those days when love first bore my heart Aloft on pinions light? Oh, who will bring me but an hour Of that delightful time, And wake in me again the power That fired my golden prime? I nurse my wound in solitude, I sigh the livelong day, And mourn the joys, in wayward mood, That now are pass'd away. Oh, who will bring me back the days Of that delightful time, And wake in me again the blaze That fired my golden prime? WHO'LL BUY A CUPID? Of all the wares so pretty That come into the city, There's none are so delicious, There's none are half so precious, As those which we are binging. O, listen to our singing! Young loves to sell! young loves to sell! My pretty loves who'll buy? First look you at the oldest, The wantonest, the boldest! So loosely goes he hopping, From tree and thicket dropping, Then flies aloft as sprightly-- We dare but praise him lightly! The fickle rogue! Young loves to sell! My pretty loves who'll buy?