They form a picture that appears of Eld— The beauteous mother and the husband bold, And smiling infant like a rose-bud held Upon the parent-stem, but half unrolled, Yet blushing brightly in each crimson fold. The household steed, in quiet sympathy, Looks silent on and seems to share their glee. The shaggy dog that wakes the forest old With joyous echoes as he bounds along, Starting the heron from his reedy lair— These, while the morning sunbeams slant along Through that old p

1807 “They made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true; And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. “And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of death is near.” Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds— His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds

(1817) 18171817 I’ve gaz’d on many a beauteous scene, In distant climes, where sunny skies Smile on the vales of living green, And torrents roll, and mountains rise: But not in lands more warm and bright,’ Mid valleys rich, & heights sublime, Does the eye rest with deep delight On mingling beauties such as thine. Whether, when morning’s golden ray, Clothes thee in splendour, life, & light, Or on thy gushing fountains play The cold moonbeam, or sweet twilight; Or bosom of thy

What F What find I here? Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demigod Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion? here are severed lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider, and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes! How could he see to do them? Having made one, Methinks it sho