ud, my darling love?
Thus should it ever be;
For beauty hath, the clearest right,
Of sovereign majesty.

Oh! art thou proud, my darling love!
Then not to do thee wrong,
Thou e'er shalt reign the sole, bright queen,
Within my heart and song.

TO LIZZIE.

Oh, Lizzie, when I read your card,
Which you had printed in the paper,
Wherein you said your case was hard,
My fancy cut a glorious caper.

I said, that is a prudent fair
Who has the true idea of living,
And would not on the "desert air,"
Her fragrance still be giving.

So I at once resolved to try
So conquer all my vacillation,
And fix my wand'ring heart and eye
On only you, in all creation.

I know that I had often sigh'd
To other ladies quite as pretty,
But then it could not be denied,
To let you pass, would be a pity.

With real pain and much ado,
I cut the other chords that bound me,
And said the ties proposed by you,
Should now be tightly drawn around me.

Farewell, I said, to blooming Nell,
Who is too long my passion trying,
For here is one, whose stanzas tell,
Like me, for marriage she is dying.

I am a student small and neat,
Not twenty-five, and somewhat dashing,
With active limbs and beard complete,
And wear a vest that's slightly flashing.

My brow is broad, my eye is black,
And quickly changes with my feeling,
And to your own, it flashes back,
The thought their glance was just revealing.

Some gentle blood runs through my veins,
And I suppose you truly know it,
And then, to crown my boastful strains,
The world has sworn I am a poet.

I'd like to wed and with you dwell,
Within some happy rural valley,
Where zephyrs round the lily's bell,
In summer sigh, and faint, and dally.

Now Lizzie! I have written back,
In answer to your publication;
So let us promptly tread the track,
Before the first of next vacation.

I'll get the license; get your dress,
And flowers to make a bride's adorning;
Then let us to the chapel press,
With bridal friends, at early morning.

We shall be happy. So will, too,
Both clerk, and priest, and mantua-maker;
My tailor--ah! a fellow true,
Will say "I'm proud to see you take her."

And then must come the honey moon,
Ah me! that sets me deeply sighing,
You leaning on my heart, whose tune,
To yours is still in love replying.

MONTICELLO.

'Tis true that when the god-like die,
Their glorious monument
Are earth's