His tongue was soft as velvet leaf, His poison-fangs concealing; But where he stung, the festering wound Was past the art of healing. “Beware of him whose speech is smooth,” The mother spake her daughter; “The deepest depths are ever found Where flows the smoothest water.” “His heart is like an angel’s heart,” The daughter spake her mother; “He seeks to be to thee and me A loving son and brother.” She listened to his guileful tale, Nor heeded words of warning; Ah! bitterly did future pain Repay her present scorning. For Robin laid his cunning game With art so deep and skilful, That gentle Ellen’s mind was turned To disobedience wilful. _MacKellar._ * * * * * Is there no way to save thee? minutes fly, And thou art lost! _thou!_ my sole benefactor, The only being who was constant to me Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor! Let me save thee--but spare my honour! _Byron._ * * * * * Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose What ne’er was meant for other ears? Why thus destroy thine own repose, And dig the source of future tears? Oh! thou wilt weep, imprudent maid, While lurking, envious foes will smile, For all the follies thou hast said, Of those who spoke but to beguile. _Byron._ * * * * * Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all Thou boldest dear on earth or heaven--by all The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope To emulate them, and to leave behind Descendants worthy both of them and thee-- By all thou hast of blest in hope or memory-- By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter-- By all the good deeds thou hast done to me, Good I would now repay with greater good, Remain within--trust to thy household gods And to my word for safety, if thou dost As I now counsel--but if not, thou art lost! _Byron._ REED.... _Single Blessedness_. But earlier is the rose distilled, Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. _Shakspeare._ * * * * * Love not, love not; the thing you love may change; The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, The heart still warmly beat, and not for you. _Mrs. Norton._ * * * * * Alone! alone! how drear it is always to be alone! In such a depth of wilderness, the only thinking one! The waters in their path rejoice, the trees together sleep-- But I have not one silver voice upon my ear to creep! _Willis._ * * * * *