THE SERENADE.

Photogravure from a painting by Schweniger

THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY

WEET in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair; Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers

Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air.

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming

To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above: Oh that, in tears from my rocky prison streaming,

I too could glide to the bower of my love!

Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her.
Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay,
Listening like the dove, while the fountains echo round her
To her lost mate's call in the forest far away.

Come, then, my bird! for the peace thou ever bearest,
Still Heaven's messenger of comfort to me;

Come! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my fairest,
Bleeds with its death-wound,- but deeper yet for thee.
GEORGE DARLEY.

R

SERENADE

ISE, lady mistress, rise!

The night hath tedious been;
No sleep has fallen on my eyes,
Nor slumber made me sin:

Is she not a saint then, say,

Thought of whom keeps sin away?

Rise, madam, rise, and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover,

And ignorance, darker than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover:

All want day till thy beauty rise;

For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.

NATHANIEL FIELD.

FAITHFUL FRIENDS

WH

HILST as fickle fortune smiled
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee

Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind:

Faithful friends are hard to find.

Every man will be thy friend

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering,
"Pity but he were a king!"
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to woman he be bent,
They have him at commandment.
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They have fawned on him before,
Use his company no more.