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And none did love him,-not his lemans dear,-
But pomp and pow'r alone are woman's care;
And where these are, light Eros finds a feere.
Lord Byron.

No mistress of the hidden skill,
No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill,
To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vine-encircled France,
Bestowed upon his brow and hand
Her Philosophic glance;
"I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;

No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And trust me, 'tis not that thy cheek
Is colourless and cold,

Nor that thine eye is slow to speak
What only eyes have told;
For many a cheek of paler white
Hath blush'd with passion's kiss;
And many an eye of lesser light
Hath caught its fire from bliss,
Yet while the rivers seek the sea,
And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine.

"And 'tis not that thy spirit, aw'd
By Beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force or from the fraud
Which Beauty loves so well;

For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake,

And swear by earth and sky;

And thou art very bold to take
What we must still deny :

I cannot tell; the charm was wrought
By other threads than mine,

The lips are lightly begg'd or bought,
The heart may not be thine!

"Yet thine the brightest smiles shall be
That ever Beauty wore,

And confidence from two or three,
And compliments from more:

And one shall give,-perchance

What only is not love;

hath given,

Friendship,-oh! such as saints in heaven
Rain on us from above.

If she shall meet thee in the bower,
Or name thee in the shrine,

Oh! wear the ring, and guard the flower,-
Her heart may not be thine!

"Go, set thy boat before the blast,
Thy breast before the gun :-
The haven shall be reach'd at last,
The battle shall be won :

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Or muse upon thy country's laws,
Or strike thy country's lute;-
And patriot hands shall sound applause,
And lovely lips be mute :

Go, dig the diamond from the wave,
The treasure from the mine;

Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,—
No woman's heart is thine!

"I charm thee from the agony
Which others feel or feign;
From anger, and from jealousy,
From doubt, and from disdain:
I bid thee wear the scorn of years
Upon the cheek of youth,
And curl the lip at passion's tears,
And shake the head at truth:
While there is bliss in revelry,
Forgetfulness in wine,

Be thou from woman's love as free,
As woman is from thine!"




The dangerous islet called the Bell Rock, on the coast of Fife, used formerly to be marked only by a Bell, which was so placed as to be swung by the motion of the waves, when the tide rose above the rock. A light-house has since been erected there.

WHEN the tide's billowy swell
Had reached it height,

Then tolled the Rock's lone Bell,
Sternly by night.

Far over cliff and surge

Swept the deep sound,

Making each wild wind's dirge
Still more profound.

Yet that funereal tone

The sailor bless'd,

Steering through darkness on,
With fearless breast.

E'en so may we, that float
On life's wide sea,
Welcome each warning note,
Stern though it be!


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