Peer Marget! oft I pity thee, Oh! this weary, weary warl! CXXXIII. 'TWAS ROSA'S LIP, 'TWAS ROSA'S EYE. What though 'tis true I've talk'd of love, And other beauties idly strove My heart to free from Rosa's chain, Unbroke the golden links remain, Entwin'd round every part. For if another's charms I prais'd, Those charms some fond remembrance rais'd, Perhaps 'twas not her tresses flowing, Dimpl'd cheek, or blushes glowing, 'Twas Rosa's lip, 'twas Rosa's eye, I own, betray'd by youth or wine, But soon the feeble spell was gone, Could tones less sweet, and looks less smiling, Oh, no! oh, no! Twas Rosa's voice, or Rosa's glance, CXXXIV. THE CYPRESS WREATH. O Lady twine no wreath for me, The May-flower and the eglantine, Let dimpl❜d mirth his temples twine, Then, Lady, weave no wreath for me, Let merry England proudly rear Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare Let the loud trump his triumph tell, But when you hear the passing bell, Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, And twine it of the cypress tree. Yes, twine for me the cypress bough, But, oh, Matilda, twine not now! Stay till a few brief months are past, And I have look'd and lov'd my last! When villagers my shroud bestrew, With pansies, rosemary, and rue, Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, And weave it of the cypress tree. " CXXXV. THE MOUNTAIN FLOWER. My love can boast a sweeter flower, Than can be seen in cultur'd bower, When gently falls the evening shower Upon the opening blossom. This early flower, on mountain side, Which guards its native shores. I love to seek the primrose pale In primrose pale I sometimes trace CXXXVI. THE MAID OF GLENCONNEL. AIR-The banks of the Devon. The pearl of the fountain, the rose of the valley, |