"In my rich fields now boast the ravage done,

Those lesser spoils,-her brow, her cheek, her hair,

All that the touches of decay can feel,

Take these, she has enough besides to spare;

I cannot thee dislodge, nor shalt thou me,

So thou and I, old Time, perforce must once agree.

"Nor is the boasted ravage

all thine own,

Nor was the field by conquest fairly gained;
For leagued with Sickness, Life and Nature's foe,

That fiend accurst thy savage wars maintained;

His hand the furrows sunk where thou didst plough, He undermined the tree, where thou didst shake the bough.

"But both unite, for both I here defy;

Spoil ye have made, but have no triumphs won;
And though the daffodil more freshly blooms,

Spreading her gay leaves to the morning sun,

Yet never will I leave the faded rose,

Whilst the pale lovely flower such sweetness still bestows."

This said, exulting Cupid clapped his wings.

The sullen power, who found his rage restrained, And felt the strong controul of higher charms, Shaking his glass, vowed while the sands would run For many a year the strife should be maintained : But Jove decreed no force should Love destroy,

Nor time should quell the might of that immortal boy.

TO MISS F. B.

ON HER ASKING FOR MRS. B.'S "LOVE AND TIME."

OF Love and Time say what would Fanny know?

That Time is precious, and that Love is sweet?
That both, the choicest blessings lent below,
With gay Sixteen in envied union meet?

Time without Love is tasteless, dull, and cold,
Love out of Time will fond and doting prove;

To bright sixteen are all their treasures told,

Love suits the Time, and Time then favours Love.

No longer then of matron brows inquire
For sprightly Love, or swiftly-wasting Time;
Look but at home, you have what you require,-
With gay sixteen they both are in their prime.

TOMORROW.

SEE where the falling day

In silence steals away

Behind the western hills withdrawn:

Her fires are quenched, her beauty fled, While blushes all her face o'erspread,

As conscious she had ill fulfilled

LINES

PLACED OVER A CHIMNEY-PIECE.

SURLY Winter, come not here;

Bluster in thy proper sphere:

Howl along the naked plain,

There exert thy joyless reign;

Triumph o'er the withered flower,

The leafless shrub, the ruined bower;

But our cottage come not near;

Other springs inhabit here,

Other sunshine decks our board,

Than the niggard skies afford.

Gloomy Winter, hence! away!

Love and Fancy scorn thy sway;

Love and Joy, and friendly Mirth,

Shall bless this roof, these walls, this hearth;

The rigour of the year

controul,

And thaw the winter in the soul.