He ended, and the lovers left their care To see who sang so sweet, and stood expose Before the giant's eye. At once he saw His rival and the nymph he lov'd so wel Twined in each other's arms. Away, he cr Away thou wanton nymph,and thou,my slav Earth-born and base, thou-thou when

could shake

To atoms, as the tempest scatters abroad The sea-sand tow'rd the skies, away, are He spoke, and from the groaning promont Wrench'd a huge rock, to lift whose m weight

Would strain the sinews of a hundred arm And toss'd it tow'rd the sun: awhile it

all

Thro' the blue air with whizzing noise, v. Its moss and stones and roots and branch shrubs,

And stopp'd at last in the mid-air, and the Dropp'd like a plummet. Oh! the sheph boy

He felt the Cyclop's wrath, for on his The mighty weight descended: not a la Or bone or fragment or a glossy hair Remained of all his beauty. He was str Dead in a moment. Galatea! where Fled you to shun the tumbling mounta's where?

What matters it? the sea-maid's heart struck,

And never own'd a love again. She chars (As Grecian fables say) the shepherd-br Intò a stream, and on its banks would And utter her laments in such a tone As might have mov'd the rocks, and would call

Upon the murdered Acis. He the whi Ran to the sea, but oft on summer-nigh Noises were heard and plaintive musi The songs you hear in Sicily. Shep swains

For many an age would lie by that

stream,

And from its watery melodies catch a And tune it to their simple instruments Hence,as 'tis thought by some,did many » Originate, and oh! most likely 'tis That pastoral music first had some such But whether from the running brooks it Or from the rustling leaves, or whi

winds,

Or silver talking fountains, who may It is enough we live and own its pow

I'd try my hand upon that pleasant rhyme,
The old ottava rima, (quite a treasure
To poets who can make their triplets chime
Smoothly) 'tis equally adapt to pleasure,
To war, wit, love, or grief, or mock-sublime:
And yet when pretty woman's in the case,
The lines go tripping with a better grace.

When Dian sleeps, and fair the planets roll Along their golden journeys: 'tis a sight That comes like-like-I mean that, on the whole,

It touches and,as 'twere, transports one quite, And makes one feel that one must have a soul;

And then our wits go wandering from their

ways, Wild,and wool-gathering, as the proverb says.

So much for eyes, and now for smiles. A smile I hold to be like balm; (the sting's the tongue)

It soothes the cankers of the heart awhile, And is a sort of silent music flung (Or sun-beam) o'er the lips, and can beguile The very d-1; pshaw! he never clung To woman's lips: I blush and blush again; "Twas all mistake: he puts up with the men.

I never saw a fault in women yet:
Their bodies and their minds are full of
grace;
Sometimes indeed their tongue- but I forget,
And 'faith that runs a very pretty race,
And doth bewilder one like wine, or debt,
Or whist when in an ancient partner's face
We read supreme contempt, and hear her
groan,

And feel that all the blunders are our own.

This is vexatious I must own, and so
Are many things if but the mind were given
To make the most of trifles, but I go
Gently and jogging on (I hope) to heaven,
Sometimes in mirth, but oft'ner touch'd with
woe,

(For I have somewhat of the mortal leaven) And string on rainy days an idle rhyme, And kill the present to feed future time.

Now to my tale, which I would fain indite (Tho' many a living bard can scribble better) Without deploying to the left and right, To see how others touch this style and metre; I'll even keep Lord Byron out of sightBy the bye, Lord B. and I were school'd together

At Harrow where, as here, he has a name. I-I'm not even on the list of fame.

Some hash the orts of others, and re-hash:
Some rub the edge off jokes-to make 'em fair;
Some cut up characters, (that's rather rash,
And more than serious people well can bear :) |
In short, there's many a way to make a dash:
Now, if you write incog.—that has an air;
(Yet men may as I have for this good reason:)
Then Love's a thing that's never out of season.

The country's scandal, and the city's jar And in whose deep blue eyes Love's tend

light

Should rise in beauty, like a vesper-sta On my return at evening, aye, and shie On hearts I prized. By Jove! 'twould divine.

Oh! we would turn some pleasant pa together, And 'plaud the wit, the tale, the poet's tr Or, wandering in the early summer-weather Talk of the past mischance and future be, v Or ride at times, (and that would save shoe leather)

dies.

There is a story of a Lydian king,
Candaules, who it seems thought otherwise :
A loose, uxorious monarch, passioning
For what he had already. Husbands wise!
Attend the moral of my curious story,
For I intend to lay it now before ye.

Candaules king of Lydia had a wife, Beautiful Lais: she was such as I (Had she not ta'en her silly husband's life, Which shews a certain taste for cruelty,) Could love; but no! we might have had some strife,

And she was rather cold and somewhat high, And I detest that stalking, marble grace, Which makes one think the heart has left its place.

Now King Candaules was an amorous sot,
A mere, loose, vulgar simpleton d'ye see;
Bad to be sure, yet of so hard a lot
Not quite deserving, surely and that she
All old ties should so quickly have forgot
Seems odd. We talk of woman's constancy
And love-yet Lais' lord was but a fool,
And she's but the exception, not the rule.

fees.