THE LOVE-LETTERS.

‘ You ask, Will admiration halt,

Should spots appear within my Sun?

Oh, how I wish I knew your fault,

For Love's tired gaze to rest upon!

Your graces, which have made me great,

Will I so loftily admire,

Yourself yourself shall emulate,

And be yourself your own desire.

I'll nobly mirror you too fair,

And, when you're false to me your glass,

What's wanting you'll by that repair,

So bring yourself through me to pass.

O dearest, tell me how to prove

Goodwill which cannot be express'd;

The beneficial heart of love

Is labour in an idle breast.

Name in the world your chosen part,

And here I vow, with all the bent

And application of my heart

To give myself to your content.

Would you live on, home-worshipp'd, thus,

Not proudly high nor poorly low?

Indeed the lines are fall'n to us

In pleasant places! Be it so.

But would you others heav'nward move,

By sight not faith, while you they admire?

I'll help with zeal as I approve

That just and merciful desire.

High as the lonely moon to view

I'll lift your light; do you decree

Your place, I'll win it; for from you

Command inspires capacity.

Or, unseen, would you sway the world

More surely? Then in gracious rhyme

I'll raise your emblem, fair unfurl'd

With blessing in the breeze of time.

Faith removes mountains, much more love;

Let your contempt abolish me

If ought of your devisal prove

Too hard or high to do or be.’

I ended.‘ From your Sweet-Heart, Sir,’

Said Nurse,‘ The Dean's man brings it down.’

I could have kiss'd both him and her!

‘ Nurse, give him that, with half-a-crown.’

How beat my heart, how paused my breath,

When, with perversely fond delay,

I broke the seal, that bore a wreath

Of roses link'd with one of bay.

‘ I found your note. How very kind

To leave it there! I cannot tell

How pleased I was, or how you find

Words to express your thoughts so well.

The Girls are going to the Ball

At Wilton. If you can, DO come;

And any day this week you call

Papa and I shall be at home.

You said to Mary once — I hope

In jest — that women SHOULD be vain:

On Saturday your friend ( her Pope ),

The Bishop dined with us again.

She put the question, if they ought?

He turn'd it cleverly away

( For giddy Mildred cried, she thought

We MUST ), with “What we must we may.”

‘ Dear papa laugh'd, and said‘ twas sad

To think how vain his girls would be,

Above all Mary, now she had

Episcopal authority.

But I was very dull, dear friend,

And went upstairs at last, and cried.

Be sure to come to-day, or send

A rose-leaf kiss'd on either side.

Adieu! I am not well. Last night

My dreams were wild: I often woke,

The summer-lightning was so bright;

And when it flash'd I thought you spoke.’