Who have loved and ceased to love, forget That ever they loved in their lives, they say; Only remember the fever and fret, And the pain of Love, that was all his pay; All the delight of him passes away From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met— Too late did I love you, my love, and yet I shall never forget till my dying day. Too late were we ‘ware of the secret net That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray; There were we taken and snared, Lisette, In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistié; Help was there none in the wide world’s fray, Joy was there none in the gift and the debt; Too late we knew it, too long regret— I shall never forget till my dying day! We must live our lives, though the sun be set, Must meet in the masque where parts we play, Must cross in the maze of Life’s minuet; Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay: But while snows of winter or flowers of May Are the sad year’s shroud or coronet, In the season of rose or of violet, I shall never forget till my dying day! ENVOY. Queen, when the clay is my coverlet, When I am dead, and when you are grey, Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet, “I shall never forget till my dying day!” BALLADE OF HIS CHOICE OF A SEPULCHRE. Here I’d come when weariest! Here the breast Of the Windburg’s tufted over Deep with bracken; here his crest Takes the west, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Silent here are lark and plover; In the cover Deep below the cushat best Loves his mate, and croons above her O’er their nest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Bring me here, Life’s tired-out guest, To the blest Bed that waits the weary rover, Here should failure be confessed; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! ENVOY. Friend, or stranger kind, or lover, Ah, fulfil a last behest, Let me rest Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! DIZAIN. _As_, _to the pipe_, _with rhythmic feet_ _In windings of some old-world dance_, _The smiling couples cross and meet_, _Join hands_, _and then in line advance_, _So_, _to these fair old tunes of France_, _Through all their maze of to-and-fro_, _The light-heeled numbers laughing go_, _Retreat_, _return_, _and ere they flee_, _One moment pause in panting row_, _And seem to say—Vos plaudite_! A. D. VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS. ORONTE—_Ce ne sont point de ces grands vers pompeux_, _Mais de petits vers_! “Le Misanthrope,” Acte i., Sc. 2. A PORTRAIT OF 1783.