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WHEN JOVE THIS EARTH CREATED.

No Pope in London

No martyrdoms—no mass-
No robberies, and, last, no cries
Of "Gas!-no Gas!"

WHEN JOVE THIS EARTH CREATED.

WHEN Jove this earth created,
Beneath, it lay so fair,

With love his heart dilated

For all things breathing there;

As o'er its beauty wander'd

His eyes, what more to give,
The mighty Thunderer ponder'd,
What joys to all that live.
"Delight be yours !" he mutter'd,
"And, joy, all joys above,"
This, too, the Thunderer utter'd,
"O mortals, yours be love!"

On golden thrones high-seated,
The Gods the Thunderer heard,
And straight their murmurs greeted
Such bliss on man conferr'd.
If, as to Gods, to mortals

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"Love's mighty joys be given,
"Throw wide to man heaven's portals,
"For earth's as blest as heaven !"
So, wroth, the Olympians mutter'd;
So murmur'd all above;

The while the Thunderer utter'd,
"O mortals, yours be love!"

Then Jove, the murmurs hearing
Such bliss for mortals caused,

Olympus' anger fearing,

Awhile, deep-thinking, paused:

This hour 'tis ours; think not what lies Beyond!

Dark o'er to-morrow's desert way

Grief lowers;

Forget it! still we tread to-day
Through flowers.

Love flies; O clasp it while it may
Be ours!

Those clinging lips-that burning kiss
Again!

I lose I drown in this fierce bliss

All pain;

Fate shrieks what shall be, and what is, In vain.

GOOD-NIGHT!

GOOD-NIGHT! good-night! good-night!
No ill dreams thy slumbers fright;
But sleep fill them with delight,
With all dearest to thy sight!
Good-night!

Good-night! good-night! good-night!
When dear forms thine eyes delight,
Still of all shapes brought by night,
Mine be dearest to thy sight!
Good-night!

AFTER BERANGER.

TIRED of Gods, the other day,
Venus, still to roaming given,
From Olympus stole away,

Earth awhile preferr'd to heaven;
Stole to earth in mortal guise-
Guess you who the Goddess is?
She, though hid from others' eyes,
She's, I know, my laughing Liz;
O how bless'd! to me alone
Is the Queen of Beauty known.

Others, as along she trips

Through the unobservant street,
See not eyes, and brows, and lips,

Than great Juno's own, more sweet;

Eyes as soft as summer's stars,

Hair more deep than Hebe's is,
Lips to rule the iron Mars-

Yes, 'tis Venus lives in Liz;
And, how blessed! to me alone

Is the Queen of Beauty known.

Ah! how neat and void of pride
Deigns the Goddess to appear;
All Olympus laid aside,

See, she's but a sweet girl herc.
So, conceal'd, to others' eyes,

May the charming vagrant be,
But in Liz, without disguise,

Shines the Queen of Love for mc.

O how bless'd! to me alone

Is her perfect beauty known.

OF GIPSY BLOOD YOU SURELY CAME.

Or gipsy blood you surely came;

Those eyes are night and fire;
Love leaps along your veins in flame,

In throbs of dear desire;

And he who wins a burning kiss

From that delicious mouth,

Has surely known the rapturous bliss,

The wild love of the South.

You move, you dance, you laugh, you talk,
And still do all proclaim,

Speech, whisper, gesture, glance, and walk,
The clime from which you came;

I press your hand, and I forget

The world beneath my eyes,
Before me clicks the castanet,
And vine and olive rise.

F

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WHERE, O POLAND, ARE THY LANCES?

O deep dark eyes! who looks from you
To see, soft gleaming forth,

The tender faith that sparkles through
The blue orbs of the North!

In you, the storm, the lightning sleep,
And hate and death are there,

Life that must know a love, how deep!
And O what wild despair!

YES, MY HEART IS LIKE TINDER.

YES, my heart is like tinder, and eyes such as yours Have often before set my blood in a glow;

But the passion that then soon went out now endures; And this, will it fade, too? Ah! dearest, no—no !

At moments, perchance, it may seem not so bright,
But brighter or dimmer, 'tis still but the same;
If, dearest, it smoulders, 'twill leap into light
The instant your eyes call it up into flame.

WHERE, O POLAND, ARE THY LANCES?

WHERE, O Poland, are thy lances?
Europe needs them once again;
Westward, horde on horde are pouring;
Poles, for you we look in vain;
Comes the savage Cossack; onward
Spurs the Tartar with loose rein;
Where, O Poland, are thy lances ?
Europe needs them once again.

O for Sobieski's pennons!
Trembling Austria recals

How they flung the baffled Moslem
Back from freed Vienna's walls;