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They speak of pleasure to the gay,
And wisdom to the wise ;
With fame that never dies.
To virgins languishing in love
They speak the minute nigh; And warm consenting hearts they join,
And paint the rapture high.
In every language, every tongue,
The same kind things they say; In gentle slumbers speak by night,
In waking dreams by day.
Cassandra's fate reversed is theirs ;
She true, no faith could gain, — They every passing hour deceive,
Yet are believed again.
A U T U M N
FAREWELL the softer hours, Spring's opening blush
Farewell! 'Tis now the sickness of the
Not to be medicined by the skillful hand.
Sweet with the breath of kine and new-spread hay;
And slumber on a bank, where the lulled youth,
His head on flowers, delicious languor feels
A different season now
Invites a different song.
The naked trees
Admit the tempest; rent is Nature's robe;
Fast, fast, the blush of Summer fades away
From her wan cheek, and scarce a flower remains
To deck her bosom; Winter follows close,
Pressing impatient on, and with rude breath
Fans her discoloured tresses.
Yet not all
Of grace and beauty from the falling year
This is the time, and these the solemn walks,
When inspiration rushes o'er the soul
TO THE BARON DE STONNE,
WHO HAD WISHED AT THE NEXT TRANSIT OF MERCURY TO FIND
HIMSELF AGAIN BETWEEN MRS. LA BORDE AND MRS. B.
In twice five winters more and one,
Hermes again will cross the Sun;
Once more between La Borde and me!
Ah, wish not what will never be !
For wandering planets have their rules,
Well known in astronomic schools ;
But life's swift wheels will ne'er turn back,
When once they've measured o'er their track.
Eleven years,—twice five and one, -
Shall rust within
Life's summer ended, and life's spring,