Now Reason tells me I am old, That Pleasure flies the snows of age; But does she say my heart is cold? Or Love forsakes the time-bowed sage?Ah, no! untired, and tireless still, Love plumes my spirit's airy wing, Melts off the winter's passing chill, And all within again is spring! I saw my youth like lightning fly, And still my soul was Love's own shrine. Now age and life are wasting fast, Yet Love, his plighted faith to prove, Fondly consoles me for the past But ah, what could console for Love? THE BUTTERFLY. Naitre avec le printemps, mourir avec les roses, &c. De la Martine. BORN with the spring's delicious prime,-with summer roses dying,— On Zephyr's silken wing throughout the cloudless ether flying; And on the sweet breast hovering of flowers scarce oped to view, Drunk with the perfume it inhales-the light-the sky's deep blue. Brushing in giddy youth the bright-hued powder from its wing; Then like a hushed breath to its doom utterly vanishing Such is the gaudy BUTTERFLY's enchanted destiny! Like to DESIRE that never rests, but wandereth ceaselessly; Insatiate viewing all the charms--the joys to this world given, To search for pleasure it returns-returns again to Heaven. EXPECTATION. L'Aurore a chassé les orages, &c. Casimir de la Vigne. AURORA has dispersed the storm-as in a veil's proud shade, Of purple and of azure is a cloudless sky displayed, A cloudless sky, with sun as bright as summer ever gave, Whilst gently as the summer-tide rolls on the crystal wave. On the fresh green-sward, moist with dew, when the first day-beam warms, The eager-budding rose bursts forth, in all its blooming charms, That rose the fondest Zephyrs kiss, the birds more loving sing, And closely to the branching elm the vine's young tendrils cling. O'er all these solitary haunts-where gloom before has been, My hope a brightness sheds-all calm-unclouded -and serene! Green fields, clear sky, translucent wave, and my now happy home! Ah do you know that here, to-night, my soul's beloved shall come? |