Like meteors of the northern night.
Then said I, in my wild amaze,
“What stars be they that greet my gaze?”
Where shall my shivering rudder turn?
To eyes that melt, or eyes that burn?
Ah! safer far the darkling sea
Than where such perilous signals be;
To rock and storm and whirlwind turn
From eyes that melt, and eyes that burn.
A lady was very pressing that he should write something in her album—she thought his poems so charming, his ballads so delicious, his epigrams so delightful, etc. Mr. Hawker was impatient at this poor flattery, and, taking up her album, wrote in it:—