Few, few shall write, and none shall meet;
Suppressed shall be each journal-sheet;
And every serf beneath my feet
Shall hail the soldier's Emperor.
PUFFS POETICAL. WILLIAM AYTOUM
I.
PARIS AND HELEN.
As the youthful Paris presses
Helen to his ivory breast,
Sporting with her golden tresses,
Close and ever closer pressed.
He said: "So let me quaff the nectar,
Which thy lips of ruby yield;
Glory I can leave to Hector,
Gathered in the tented field.
"Let me ever gaze upon thee,
Look into thine eyes so deep;
With a daring hand I won thee,
With a faithful heart I'll keep.
"Oh, my Helen, thou bright wonder,
Who was ever like to thee?
Jove would lay aside his thunder,
So he might be blest like me.
"How mine eyes so fondly linger
On thy soft and pearly skin;
Scan each round and rosy finger,
Drinking draughts of beauty in!
"Tell me, whence thy beauty, fairest!
Whence thy cheek's enchanting bloom!
Whence the rosy hue thou wearest,
Breathing round thee rich perfume?"