TO A COQUETTE.

The Lady was playing the Penserosa, and the Bard rallied her. She suddenly assumed the Allegra, and rallied him in turn. Whereupon he sung as follows:

Heave no more that breast of snow,
With sighs of simulated wo,
While Conquest triumphs on thy brow,
And Hope, gay laughing in thine eye,
Cheers the moments gliding by,
Welcomes Joy's voluptuous train,
Welcomes Pleasure's jocund reign,
And whispers thee of transports yet in store,
When fraught with Love's ecstatic pain,
Shooting keen through every vein,
Thy heart shall thrill with bliss unknown before.
But smile not so divinely bright;
Nor sport before my dazzled sight,
That "prodigality of charms,"
That winning air, that wanton grace,
That pliant form, that beauteous face,
Zephyr's step, Aurora's smile;
Nor thus in mimic fondness twine,
About my neck thy snowy arms;
Nor press this faded cheek of mine,
Nor seek, by every witching wile,
My hopes to raise, my heart to gain,
Then laugh my love to scorn, and triumph in my pain.
I love thee, Julia! Though the flush
Of sprightly youth is flown—
Though the bright glance, and rose's blush
From eye and cheek and lip are gone—
Though Fancy's frolic dreams are fled,
Dispelled by sullen care—
And Time's gray wing its frost has shed
Upon my raven hair—
Yet warm within my bosom glows,
A heart that recks not winter's snows,
But throbs with hope, and heaves with sighs
For ruby lips and sparkling eyes;
And still—the slave of amorous care—
Would make that breast, that couch of Love, its lair.