s of earth! So, new-found life
Refreshing, looked sweet Eve, with purpose fell
When first sin's sovereign gazed on her, and strife
Had with his heart, that grieved with arts of hell,

"Stern as it was, to win her o'er to death!--
Most beautiful of all in earth, in heaven,
Oh! could I quaff for aye that fragrant breath
Couldst thou, or being likening thee, be given

"To bloom forever for me thus--still true
To one dear theme, my full soul flowing o'er,
Would find no room for thought of what it knew--
Nor picturing forfeit transport, curse me more. (5)

"But oh! severest pain!--I cannot be
In what I love, blest ev'n the little span--
(With all a spirit's keen capacity
For bliss) permitted the poor insect man.

XXXVII.

"The few I've seen and deemed of worth to win
Like some sweet flowret mildewed, in my arms,
Withered to hidiousness--foul ev'n as sin--
Grew fearful hags; and then with potent charm [FN#14]

[FN#14] One of the most striking absurdities in the lately-
dispelled superstition of witchcraft, is the extreme hidiousness and
misery usually ascribed to such as made use of the agency of evil
spirits. I have therefore made it the result of an unforeseen
necessity: no female can be supposed to purchase, voluntarily, the
power of doing mischief to others at the price of beauty and every
thing like happiness on her own part.

"Of muttered word and harmful drug, did learn
To force me to their will. Down the damp grave
Loathing, I went at Endor, and uptorn
Brought back the dead; when tortured Saul did crave,

"To view his pending fate. Fair--nay, as this
Young slumberer, that dread witch; when, I arrayed
In lovely shape, to meet my guileful kiss
She yielded first her lip. And thou, sweet maid--
What is't I see?--a recent tear has strayed
And left its stain upon her cheek of bliss.--

XXXVIII.

"She's fall'n to sleep in grief--haply been chid,
Or by rude mortal wronged. So let it prove
Meet for my purpose: 'mid these blossoms hid,
I'll gaze; and when she wakes with all that love

"And art can lend, come forth. He who would gain
A fond full heart, in love's soft surgery skilled
Should seek it when 'tis sore; allay its pain--
With balm by pity prest 'tis all his own, so healed

XXXIX.

"She may be mine a little year--ev'n fair
And sweet as now--Oh! respite! while possest
I lose the dismal sense of my despair--
But then--I will not think upon the rest.

"And wherefore grieve to cloud he