HONOUR.

L'Honneur est comme une isle, &c.

Despreaux.

HONOUR is like unto an isle with steep cliffs fenced

around,

Which once abandoned, never yet was second en

trance found.

THE BANQUET.

O, mes amis que ce banquet m' enchante, &c.

Casimir Delavigne, Tom. II. p. 143.

FRIENDS of my soul! I gladden in the feast,

These sports, and these gay sounds my bosom

move;

And the wine's sparkling purple:-" last, not least," The scattered fruits and pleasant scraps I love.

Sixty years hence, when ruthless age, abhorred, Shall shake the bottle in my nerveless hand, May Bacchus call us to the festive board,

And may we all obey his glad command!

Then, though with less sonorous voice we sing, To Bacchus we'll devote our latest lay:

We'll drink to him-the cup its hues shall fling

O'er brows that eighty winters have made grey.

Then, plunge our senses in the grape's red tide,My friends, the ivy well becomes grey hairs, As its green boughs in their young freshness hide

The ancient elm that Time insatiate bares!

ADDRESS TO MORNING.

Viens, Aurore, &c.

Henri IV.

COME, Morning! with thy roseate ray-
Burst o'er the heavens, thou blessed day!
To me there's gladness in thy waking light;
For, oh, the maid beneath whose eyes
My soul in blissful thraldom lies,

In her young beauty seems thus glowing bright.

Fairest and first in loveliness!

Faintly whould simple song express

The grace that plays around her sylphid form;
Whilst, won by every smile of hers,

My heart each look of light prefers,

Even to the day-star's most resplendent charm.

The Rose, from which day's burning lip
Delights its sweetest dews to sip,

Boasts not more beamy blush, or fragrant air;
The thistle-down so snowy sleek,

Yields to her soft and vermil cheek,
Nor is the lily's self more purely fair.

By Hebe nourished with the dews Of blest ambrosia,-whilst the hues Of rapture bloom upon her lips divine: Whene'er in love's most fond caress, Those lips, those balmy lips I press,

A heavenly nectar breathes its sweets o'er mine!