This Band, which bound thy yellow hair Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love; It claims my warmest, dearest care, Like relics left of saints above. 2. Oh! I will wear it next my heart; 'Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee: From me again 'twill ne'er depart, But mingle in the grave with me. 3. The dew I gather from thy lip Is not so dear to me as this; _That_ I but for a moment sip, And banquet on a transient bliss: [i] 4. _This_ will recall each youthful scene, E'en when our lives are on the wane; The leaves of Love will still be green When Memory bids them bud again. 1806. [First published, 1832.] [Footnote i: _on a transient kiss._ ['MS. Newstead'.] TO A KNOT OF UNGENEROUS CRITICS. [1] Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew! My strains were never meant for you; Remorseless Rancour still reveal, And damn the verse you cannot feel. Invoke those kindred passions' aid, Whose baleful stings your breasts pervade; Crush, if you can, the hopes of youth, Trampling regardless on the Truth: Truth's Records you consult in vain, She will not blast her native strain; She will assist her votary's cause, His will at least be her applause, Your prayer the gentle Power will spurn; To Fiction's motley altar turn, Who joyful in the fond address Her favoured worshippers will bless: And lo! she holds a magic glass, Where Images reflected pass, Bent on your knees the Boon receive-- This will assist you to deceive-- The glittering gift was made for you, Now hold it up to public view; Lest evil unforeseen betide, A Mask each canker'd brow shall hide, (Whilst Truth my sole desire is nigh, Prepared the danger to defy,) "There is the Maid's perverted name, And there the Poet's guilty Flame, Gloaming a deep phosphoric fire, Threatening--but ere it spreads, retire. Says Truth Up Virgins, do not fear! The Comet rolls its Influence here; 'Tis Scandal's Mirror you perceive, These dazzling Meteors but deceive-- Approach and touch--Nay do not turn It blazes there, but will not burn."-- At once the shivering Mirror flies, Teeming no more with varnished Lies; The baffled friends of Fiction start, Too late desiring to depart-- Truth poising high Ithuriel's spear Bids every Fiend unmask'd appear, The vizard tears from every face, And dooms them to a dire disgrace. For e'er they compass their escape, Each takes perforce a native shape-- The Leader of the wrathful Band, Behold a portly Female stand! She raves, impelled by private pique, This mean unjust revenge to seek; From vice to save this virtuous Age, Thus does she vent indecent rage! What child has she of promise fair, Who claims a fostering Mother's care? Whose Innocence requires defence, Or forms at least a smooth pretence, Thus to disturb a harmless Boy, His humble hope, and peace annoy? She need not fear the amorous rhyme,