When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!—the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days,

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,

Is the

More glorious far,

eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.

SOVEREIGN WOMAN.

橋

A BALLAD.

HE dance was o'er, yet still in dreams

That fairy scene went on;

Like clouds still flush'd with daylight gleams,

Though day itself is gone.

And gracefully, to music's sound,

The same bright nymphs went gliding round;

While thou, the Queen of all, wert there-
The Fairest still, where all were fair.

The dream then changed-in halls of state,

I saw thee high enthroned;
While, ranged around, the wise, the great

In thee their mistress own'd:

And still the same, thy gentle sway
O'er willing subjects won its way-

Till all confess'd the Right Divine

To rule o'er man was only thine.

But, lo! the scene now changed again—
And borne on plumed steed,

I saw thee o'er the battle-plain

Our land's defenders lead;

And stronger in thy beauty's charms,

Than man,

with countless hosts in arms,

Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free,

Thy very smile was victory!

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone

In cot and court the same, Wherever woman's smile is known,

Victoria's still her name.

For though she almost blush to reign,
Though Love's own flow'rets wreath the chain,

Disguise our bondage as we will,

'Tis woman, woman, rules us still.

SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY.

Haud curat Hippoclides.-ERASM. Adag.

O those we love we've drank to-night;
But now attend, and stare not,
While I the ampler list recite

Of those for whom WE CARE NOT.

For royal men, howe'er they frown,
If on their fronts they bear not
That noblest gem that decks a crown,
The People's love-WE CARE NOT.

For slavish men, who bend beneath
A despot yoke, yet dare not
Pronounce the will, whose very breath
Would rend its links-WE CARE NOT.

For priestly men, who covet sway

And wealth, though they declare not; Who point, like finger-posts, the way They never go-WE CARE NOT.

For martial men, who on their sword,
Howe'er it conquers, wear not
The pledges of a soldier's word,
Redeem'd and pure-WE CARE NOT.

For legal men, who plead for wrong,
And, though to lies they swear not,
Are hardly better than the throng
Of those who do-WE CARE NOT.

For courtly men, who feed upon

The land, like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf, where they can sun Their crawling limbs-WE CARE NOT.

For wealthy men, who keep their mines
In darkness hid, and share not
The paltry ore with him who pines
In honest want-WE CARE NOT.

For prudent men, who hold the power
Of Love aloof, and bare not
Their hearts in any guardless hour
To Beauty's shaft-WE CARE NOT.

For all, in short, on land or sea,

In camp or court, who are not,

Who never were, or e'er will be

Good men and true-WE CARE NOT.

EASON, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, Went on a party of pleasure one day: Folly play'd

Around the maid,

The bells of his cap rung merrily out;