He cut the heart of a dove in two,
And mixed the drops with honey dew;
In an amber vase he plac'd them then,
And went to seek for a lover's pen.

He plucked a ray from the setting sun,
A plume of light, as the day is done,
For Love is warm, though night invades,
And Love is bright among the shades.

He waited till the stars arose,
Ere he his billet would compose;

He wrote on rose leaves, newly blown,
Because their fragrance is his own.
A glass of capillaire he quaffed,
Then laughing wrote, and writing laughed.

"We were for each other born,
"We are from each other torn ;
"Where we should, then let us be,
"I with you, and you with me."

Love copied then his billet-doux,
One for me and one for you;
He sealed them with his own dear kiss,
And sent them by the mail of bliss.

XIX. THE DECAY OF LOVE.
[From the same.]

THY charms are all decaying, Love,
Thy smile that once was playing, Love,
So pure and bright
It seem'd to light

From day's clear fountain straying, Lovè.
That smile away is stealing, Love,
Thy lip no more revealing, Love,
The sweets of soul
That Cupid stole

To fill his cup of feeling, Love.

That lip will shed its sweetness, Love,
Thy form will lose its fleetness, Love,
Array'd no more

As when it wore

The snowy veil of neatness, Love.
Oh! time is stealing by us, Love,
And age is drawing nigh us, Love,
So let me sip
Thy dewy lip

Before the young hours fly us,

Love

The rose of youth is blowing, Love,
The tide of health is flowing, Love,
Then let me be
Entwin'd with thee

As elms and vines are growing, Love.

A chain of flowers has twined us, Love,
And blest the hours shall find us, Love,
Then heart from heart
No more shall part,

Till age and death unbind us, Love.

XX. LOVE'S BENEDICTION.
[From the same.]

BE as thou art-forever young,

Still on thy cheek the vernal bloom;
The honey's essence on thy tongue,
And on thy lips the rose-perfume.

Be as thou art-forever fair,

Still beam wirh love, those eyes of thine; Forever wave thy yellow hair,

And round thy graceful bosom twine.

Those coral lips, those teeth of pearl,

Those smiles, those glances, and those sighs; Heaven save them long, my charming girl,

To bless this heart, to bless these eyes.

For all of thee, thank heaven, is mine:
And I am happier made by thee;
As when the oak surplants the vine,
'Tis glad, and looketh cheerfully.

XXI. THE CORAL GROVE.
[From the same.]

DEEP in the wave is a Coral Grove,
Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove,
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,
That never are wet with falling dew.
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine.

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,

And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow; From coral rocks the sea plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;

The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the stars are bright as the sands, that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air:
There with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush, like a banner bath'd in slaughter: There with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean,

Are bending, like corn on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms,
Has made the top of the wave his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ;
Then far below, in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet, and gold-fish rove,
Where the waters murmur tranquilly,

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.

XXII. THE MERMAID'S SONG,
[Newburyport Herald.]

COME mariner, down in the deep with me,
And hide thee under the wave;
For I have a bed of coral for the
And quiet and sound shall thy slumber be,
In a cell in the Mermaid's care.

On a pillow of pearl thine eye shall sleep,
And nothing disturb thee there;
The fishes their silent vigils shall keep-
There shall be no grass thy grave to sweep
But the silk of the Mermaid's hair.

And she who is waiting with cheek so pale,
As the tempest and ocean roar;

And weeps when she hears the menacing gale,
Or sighs to behold her mariner's sail

Come whitening up to the shore

She has not long to linger for thee;
Her sorrows shall soon be o'er;

For the chords shall be broke, and the prisoner free,

And her eye shall close, and her dreams shall be

So sweet sweet she will wake no more.

XXIII. HOLIDAY PRESENTS.*
[Evening Post. N. Y.]

Now, ere winter commences hostility,
Friends of genius, this festival day,
Call for tokens of love and civility,

Such as Bonfanti will sell in Broadway;
For jewels and glasses, and trinkets for lasses,
This artist surpasses all others in York;
His clocks and his watches, his ear-rings and broaches,
And juvenile coaches, are masterly work.

There's a snuff-box of costly materials,

Gold enamell'd, with diamonds and pearls, Rich as ever despotic imperials

Gave, on Christmas, to favourite girls; Containing a treasure that gives us more pleasure

Than this kind of measure, which playfully rings; Touch a spring in it, and out flies a linnet,

Which warbles a minute, while flapping its wings.
Small as a bee, yet it sings so delightfully,

Nothing can equal its plumage and tone;
While you listen, the little thing, spitefully
Vanishes, just like a ghost, and is gone :
Again touch the thing so, and out he will spring so,
And flutter and sing so, you'll swear he's alive;
As Broadway is handy, each lover and dandy

Should call on Bonfanti--three hundred and five.

There's a gig and the little miss in it, sir,
Drives her horse at a terrible rate,

Round the room, in the tenth of a minute, sir,
Gaily she gallops, nor pauses to bait;
Velocipedes prancing, and little dolls dancing,

With rolling eye glancing, and sweet rosy cheeks;
Clocks, with figures of butchers and diggers,

And soldiers, with triggers to pull for the Greeks.

Silver spoons, too, enclosed in a cherry pit,
Six times twenty I counted in one;
Glass torpedos to crack in a merry fit,

Roaring as loud as a pistol or gun;

But what is still queerer, the moon is brought nearer,
Until we can hear her poor poets complain;
And this is effected, as might be expected,

By glasses collected in one hollow cane.

* Advertisement of Joseph Bonfanti, in the New-York Evening Post:

Gloves in nuts, too, a great curiosity,

Chains for lockets, and bracelets for arms; Pens and pencils to rule with velocity,

Paints for ladies to heighten their charms; Tooth-picks and tweezers, with needles and scissors, And glasses called quizzers, to gaze at the fair; Razors in cases, with bodkins and braces,

And patches for faces, and combs for the hair. Canes for walking, an endless variety,

Some are musical, made like a flute; Swords in others, to meet with propriety

Rude assaults from a bully or brute; Bottles to smell of, like fishes they tell of,

Designed for each belle of a delicate frame; Cork-screws and purses, with rattles for nurses,

Or those who write verses for nothing but fame.
Flasks for powder, for sportsmen or duellist,

Swords and rifles, with pistols and dirks;
Were they wielded 'gainst tyrants the cruellest,
Greece would quickly be freed from the Turks.
Elegant castors, imperial court-plasters,

And toys for young masters and misses you know ; And true pulse-glasses to tell us what passes

In veins of the lasses, who've hearts to bestow. Quills and wafers for forming a billet-doux,

Tinder-boxes, with snuffers and stands ; Case for dressing, and matters to fill it too,

All that a gentleman's toilet demands. Faithful barometers, best of thermometers,

Clocks and hydrometers, finished with care, With breast-pins and lockets, and lights for the pockets, And holiday rockets to burst in the air.

There, and a thousand of others most beautiful,
Now invite the inspection of taste;

Sweethearts and children, if constant and dutiful,
Thus can at once be rewarded and graced,
As holiday present to cit or to peasant,

is equally pleasant this festival day,
Let every gay dandy, who has the cash handy,
Apply to Bonfanti, who lives in Broadway.

XXIV. THE PRINTER'S PRAYER.
[Baltimore Patriot.]

OH! thou GREAT HEAD of earth and heaven'
Who dost the howling tempest ride,
Thy will the holy rule hast given ;—
Be thou the printer's friendly guide.