u repaid.

"Now I swear by the light of the Comet-King's tail!"
And he tower'd with pride as he spoke,
"If again with these magical colours I fail,
The crater of Etna shall hence be my jail,
And my food shall be sulphur and smoke.

"But if I succeed, then, oh, fair Geraldine!
Thy promise with justice I claim,
And thou, queen of Fairies, shalt ever be mine,
The bride of my bed; and thy portrait divine
Shall fill all the earth with my fame."

He spake; when, behold, the fair Geraldine's form
On the canvass enchantingly glow'd;
His touches--they flew like the leaves in a storm;
And the pure pearly white and the carnation warm
Contending in harmony flow'd;

And now did the portrait a twin-sister seem
To the figure of Geraldine fair:
With the same _sweet_ expression did faithfully teem
Each muscle; each feature; in short not a gleam
Was lost of her beautiful hair.

Twas the Fairy herself! but, alas, her blue eyes
Still a pupil did ruefully lack;
And who shall describe the terrifick surprise
That seiz'd the PAINT-KING when, behold, he descries
Not a speck on his palette of black!

"I am lost!" said the Fiend, and he shook like a leaf;
When, casting his eyes to the ground,
He saw the lost pupils of Ellen with grief
In the jaws of a mouse, and the sly little thief
Whisk away from his sight with a bound.

"I am lost!" said the Fiend, and he fell like a stone;
Then rising the Fairy in ire
With a touch of her finger she loosen'd her zone,
(While the limbs on the wall gave a terrible groan,)
And she swelled to a column of fire.

Her spear now a thunder-bolt flash'd in the air,
And sulphur the vault fill'd around:
She smote the grim monster; and now by the hair
High-lifting, she hurl'd him in speechless despair
Down the depths of the chasm profound.

Then over the picture thrice waving her spear,
"Come forth!" said the good Geraldine;
When, behold, from the canvass descending, appear
Fair Ellen, in person more lovely than e'er,
With grace more than ever divine!

Myrtilla.

_Addressed to a LADY, who lamented that she had never been in love._

"Al nuovo giorno,
Pietosa man' mi sollevo."

METASTASIO.

"Ah me! how sad," Myrtilla cried,
"To waste alone my years!"
While o'er a streamlet's flow'ry side
She pensive hung, and watch'd the tide
That dimpled with her tears.

"The world, though oft to merit blind,
Alas, I