NO master sage, nor orator I know,
Who can success, like gentle Cupid show;
His ways and arguments are pleasing smiles,
Engaging looks, soft tears, and winning wiles.
Wars in his empire will at times arise,
And, in the field, his standard meet the eyes;
Now stealing secretly, with skilful lure.
He penetrates to hearts supposed secure,
O'erleaps the ramparts that protect around,
And citadels reduces, most renowned.

I DARE engage, two fortresses besiege
Leave one to Mars, and t'other to this liege.
And though the god of war should numbers bring,
With all the arms that can his thunders fling,
Before the fort he'll vainly waste his time,
While Cupid, unattended, in shall climb,
Obtain possession perfectly at ease,
And grant conditions just as he shall please.

I NOW propose to give a fav'rite tale: - 
The god of Love was never known to fail,
In finding stratagems, as I have read,
And many have I seen most nicely spread.

THE young Aminta was Gerontes' wife,
With whom she lived, it seems, a wretched life.
Far better she deserved than what she had,
For he was jealous, and his temper bad:
An aged hunks, while she was in the hour
When hearts, that never felt LOVE'S mighty pow'r,
Are presently by tender objects caught,
Which ne'er before had entered in the thought.

WHEN first Aminta saw young Cleon's face,
A lad possessing all engaging grace,
Much prudence then she ev'ry way displayed,
E'en more perhaps than necessary made.
For though we may suppose the lovely fair,
Would ev'ry effort use to 'scape the snare,
Yet when the god of soft persuasion takes
The fatal moment, havock soon he makes,
In vain his duty, any thing opposed,
If once the tender sentiment's disclosed.
Aminta consolation had in view
'Twas that alone the passion from her drew,
A meeting innocent, to vent her tears,
And, to a feeling friend, express her fears.
'Tis represented thus I cannot doubt;
But sight of meat brings appetite about;
And if you would avoid the tempting bit,
'Tis better far at table not to sit.

AMINTA hoped to render Cleon kind;
Poor innocent! as yet to dangers blind,
These conversations she was led to deem,
Mere friendly ways that raised sincere esteem;
And this alone she ardently desired,
Without supposing more would be required,
Or any thing improper be the case:
She'd rather die than suffer such disgrace.
'Twas difficult the business to commence;
A letter 's often lost, or gives offence,
And many serious accidents arrive:
To have a confidant 'twere better strive;
But where could such a female friend be found?
Gerontes dreaded was by all around.
I've said already, Cupid will obtain,
One way or t'other, what he wants to gain;
And this will show the observation just
The maxim's such as you may always trust.

A FEMALE relative young Cleon had,
A peevish prude, who looked upon the lad,
As one she had a right to rule and scold;
Her name was Mistress Alice: sour and old.

ONE summer's day, Aminta to her said:
I cannot think how 'tis, your cousin's led,
(Though quite indifferent he is to me,
And doubtless such will ever prove to be)
With various fond attentions, to pretend,
He loves me - much beyond a common friend.
My window oft he passes day and night;
I cannot move a step, but he's in sight,
And in a moment at my heels appears;
Notes, letters full of soft expressions, dears,
To me are sent by one I will not name,
For known to you, she would be thought to blame:
Pray put an end to such a wild pursuit
It nothing can produce but wretched fruit;
My husband may take fire at things like these;
And as to Cleon. - me he'll never please;
I'll thank you to inform him what I say;
Such steps are useless: folly they betray.

MUCH praise Aminta from the dame received;
Who promised that the conduct, which aggrieved;
To Cleon she would mention, as desired,
And reprimand him, as the fault required:
So well would scold him, that she might be sure,
From him in future she would be secure.

THE foll'wing day our youth to Alice came;
To pay a visit solely was his aim;
She told him what Aminta had declared,
And, in her lecture, words by no means spared.
The lad, surprised, on oath the whole denied,
And vowed to gain her love, he never tried.
Old Alice called her cousin, imp of Hell;
Said she, in all that's wicked, you excel;
You will not all your base designs confess;
The oaths are false on which you lay such stress,
And punishment most richly you deserve;
But false or true, from this I will not swerve,
That you should recollect, Aminta 's chaste,
And never will submit to be disgraced;
Renounce her from this hour; no more pursue: - 
That easily, said Cleon, I can do;
Away he went: the case considered o'er;
But still the myst'ry he could not explore.

THREE days had scarcely passed: Aminta came,
To pay a visit to our ancient dame;
Cried she I fear, you have not seen as yet,
This youth, who worse and worse appears to get.
Rage, Mistress Alice, instantly o'erspread,
And ev'ry thing that's vile she of him said.

NO sooner had Aminta gone away,
But she for

A Confidant Without Knowing It; Or The Stratagem

Were I a pet of fair Calliope,
 I would devote the gifts conferr'd on me
 To dress in verse old Aesop's lies divine;
 For verse, and they, and truth, do well combine;
 But, not a favourite on the Muses' hill,
 I dare not arrogate the magic skill,
 To ornament these charming stories.
 A bard might brighten up their glories,
 No doubt. I try, - what one more wise must do.
 Thus much I have accomplish'd hitherto: - 
 By help of my translation,
 The beasts hold conversation,
 In French, as ne'er they did before.
 Indeed, to claim a little more,
 The plants and trees, with smiling features,
 Are turn'd by me to talking creatures.
 Who says, that this is not enchanting?
 'Ah,' says the critics, 'hear what vaunting!
 From one whose work, all told, no more is
 Than half-a-dozen baby stories.'
 Would you a theme more credible, my censors,
 In graver tone, and style which now and then soars?
 Then list! For ten long years the men of Troy,
 By means that only heroes can employ,
 Had held the allied hosts of Greece at bay, - 
 Their minings, batterings, stormings day by day,
 Their hundred battles on the crimson plain,
 Their blood of thousand heroes, all in vain, - 
 When, by Minerva's art, a horse of wood,
 Of lofty size before their city stood,
 Whose flanks immense the sage Ulysses hold,
 Brave Diomed, and Ajax fierce and bold,
 Whom, with their myrmidons, the huge machine
 Would bear within the fated town unseen,
 To wreak upon its very gods their rage - 
 Unheard-of stratagem, in any age.
 Which well its crafty authors did repay....
 'Enough, enough,' our critic folks will say;
 'Your period excites alarm,
 Lest you should do your lungs some harm;
 And then your monstrous wooden horse,
 With squadrons in it at their ease,
 Is even harder to endorse
 Than Renard cheating Raven of his cheese.
 And, more than that, it fits you ill
 To wield the old heroic quill.'
 Well, then, a humbler tone, if such your will is: - 
 Long sigh'd and pined the jealous Amaryllis
 For her Alcippus, in the sad belief,
 None, save her sheep and dog, would know her grief.
 Thyrsis, who knows, among the willows slips,
 And hears the gentle shepherdess's lips
 Beseech the kind and gentle zephyr
 To bear these accents to her lover....
 'Stop!' says my censor:
 'To laws of rhyme quite irreducible,
 That couplet needs again the crucible;
 Poetic men, sir,
 Must nicely shun the shocks
 Of rhymes unorthodox.'
 A curse on critics! hold your tongue!
 Know I not how to end my song?
 Of time and strength what greater waste
 Than my attempt to suit your taste?

 Some men, more nice than wise,
 There's nought that satisfies.

Against The Hard To Suit

SICK, Alice grown, and fearing dire event,
Some friend advised a servant should be sent
Her confessor to bring and ease her mind; - 
Yes, she replied, to see him I'm inclined;
Let father Andrew instantly be sought: - 
By him salvation usually I'm taught.

A MESSENGER was told, without delay,
To take, with rapid steps, the convent way;
He rang the bell - a monk enquired his name,
And asked for what, or whom, the fellow came.
I father Andrew want, the wight replied,
Who's oft to Alice confessor and guide:
With Andrew, cried the other, would you speak?
If that's the case, he's far enough to seek;
Poor man! he's left us for the regions blessed,
And has in Paradise ten years confessed.

Alice Sick

While one philosopher affirms
 That by our senses we're deceived,
 Another swears, in plainest terms,
 The senses are to be believed.
 The twain are right. Philosophy
 Correctly calls us dupes whene'er
 Upon mere senses we rely.
 But when we wisely rectify
 The raw report of eye or ear,
 By distance, medium, circumstance,
 In real knowledge we advance.
 These things hath nature wisely plann'd - 
 Whereof the proof shall be at hand.
 I see the sun: its dazzling glow
 Seems but a hand-breadth here below;
 But should I see it in its home,
 That azure, star-besprinkled dome,
 Of all the universe the eye,
 Its blaze would fill one half the sky.
 The powers of trigonometry
 Have set my mind from blunder free.
 The ignorant believe it flat;
 I make it round, instead of that.
 I fasten, fix, on nothing ground it,
 And send the earth to travel round it.
 In short, I contradict my eyes,
 And sift the truth from constant lies.
 The mind, not hasty at conclusion,
 Resists the onset of illusion,
 Forbids the sense to get the better,
 And ne'er believes it to the letter.
 Between my eyes, perhaps too ready,
 And ears as much or more too slow,
 A judge with balance true and steady,
 I come, at last, some things to know.
 Thus when the water crooks a stick,
 My reason straightens it as quick - 
 Kind Mistress Reason - foe of error,
 And best of shields from needless terror!
 The creed is common with our race,
 The moon contains a woman's face.
 True? No. Whence, then, the notion,
 From mountain top to ocean?
 The roughness of that satellite,
 Its hills and dales, of every grade,
 Effect a change of light and shade
 Deceptive to our feeble sight;
 So that, besides the human face,
 All sorts of creatures one might trace.
 Indeed, a living beast, I ween,
 Has lately been by England seen.
 All duly placed the telescope,
 And keen observers full of hope,
 An animal entirely new,
 In that fair planet, came to view.
 Abroad and fast the wonder flew; - 
 Some change had taken place on high,
 Presaging earthly changes nigh;
 Perhaps, indeed, it might betoken
 The wars that had already broken
 Out wildly o'er the Continent.
 The king to see the wonder went:
 (As patron of the sciences,
 No right to go more plain than his.)
 To him, in turn, distinct and clear,
 This lunar monster did appear. - 
 A mouse, between the lenses caged,
 Had caused these wars, so fiercely waged!
 No doubt the happy English folks
 Laugh'd at it as the best of jokes.
 How soon will Mars afford the chance
 For like amusements here in France!
 He makes us reap broad fields of glory.
 Our foes may fear the battle-ground;
 For us, it is no sooner found,
 Than Louis, with fresh laurels crown'd,
 Bears higher up our country's story.
 The daughters, too, of Memory, - 
 The Pleasures and the Graces, - 
 Still show their cheering faces:
 We wish for peace, but do not sigh.
 The English Charles the secret knows
 To make the most of his repose.
 And more than this, he'll know the way,
 By valour, working sword in hand,
 To bring his sea-encircled land
 To share the fight it only sees to-day.
 Yet, could he but this quarrel quell,
 What incense-clouds would grateful swell!
 What deed more worthy of his fame!
 Augustus, Julius - pray, which Caesar's name
 Shines now on story's page with purest flame?
 O people happy in your sturdy hearts!
 Say, when shall Peace pack up these bloody darts,
 And send us all, like you, to softer arts?

An Animal In The Moon

Whilst one philosopher tells us that men are constantly the dupes of their own senses, another will swear that the senses never deceive. Both are right. Philosophy truly affirms that the senses will deceive so long as men are content to take upon trust the evidence the senses bring. But if this evidence is weighed, measured, and tested by every available resource of science the senses can deceive no one.

* * * * *

In England, not long ago, when a large telescope was levelled to observe the moon, the observer was astounded to see what he took to be some new animal in this lovely planet. Everybody was excited about the marvellous appearance. Something had occurred up above there which, without doubt, must betoken great changes of some sort. Who could tell but that all the dreadful wars that were then convulsing Europe had not been caused by it? The king, who patronised the sciences, hastened to the observatory to see the sight, and see it he did. There was the monster right enough!

And what was it after all? - Nothing but a poor little mouse that had by some unlucky chance got in between the lenses of the telescope. Here was the cause of all the devastating wars! Everybody laughed....

An Animal In The Moon (Prose Fable)

PAINTER in Paphos and Cythera famed
Depict, I pray, the absent Iris' face.
Thou hast not seen the lovely nymph I've named;
The better for thy peace. - Then will I trace
For thy instruction her transcendent grace.
Begin with lily white and blushing rose,
Take then the Loves and Graces... But what good
Words, idle words? for Beauty's Goddess could
By Iris be replaced, nor one suppose
The secret fraud - their grace so equal shows.
Thou at Cythera couldst, at Paphos too,
Of the same Iris Venus form anew.

An Imitation Of Anacreon

PRONE, on my couch I calmly slept
Against my wont.        A little child
Awoke me as he gently crept
And beat my door.     A tempest wild
Was raging-dark and cold the night.
"Have pity on my naked plight,"
He begged, "and ope thy door." - "Thy name?"
I asked admitting him. - "The same
"Anon I'll tell, but first must dry
"My weary limbs, then let me try
"My mois'ened bow." - Despite my fear
The hearth I lit, then drew me near
My guest, and chafed his fingers cold.
"Why fear?" I thought.    "Let me be bold
"No Polyphemus he; what harm
"In such a child? - Then I'll be calm!"
The playful boy drew out a dart,
Shook his fair locks, and to my heart
His shaft he launch'd. - "Love is my name,"
He thankless cried, "I hither came
"To tame thee.    In thine ardent pain
"Of Cupid think and young Climene." - 
"Ah! now I know thee, little scamp,
"Ungrateful, cruel boy! Decamp!"
Cupid a saucy caper cut,
Skipped through the door, and as it shut,
"My bow," he taunting cried, "is sound,
"Thy heart, poor comrade, feels the wound."

Another Imitation Of Anacreon

YOUR name with ev'ry pleasure here I place,
The last effusions of my muse to grace.
O charming Phillis! may the same extend
Through time's dark night: our praise together blend;
To this we surely may pretend to aim
Your acting and my rhymes attention claim.
Long, long in mem'ry's page your fame shall live;
You, who such ecstacy so often give;
O'er minds, o'er hearts triumphantly you reign:
In Berenice, in Phaedra, and Chimene,
Your tears and plaintive accents all engage:
Beyond compare in proud Camilla's rage;
Your voice and manner auditors delight;
Who strong emotions can so well excite?
No fine eulogium from my pen expect:
With you each air and grace appear correct
My first of Phillis's you ought to be;
My sole affection had been placed on thee;
Long since, had I presumed the truth to tell;
But he who loves would fain be loved as well.

NO hope of gaining such a charming fair,
Too soon, perhaps, I ceded to despair;
Your friend, was all I ventured to be thought,
Though in your net I more than half was caught.
Most willingly your lover I'd have been;
But time it is our story should be seen.

ONE, day, old Satan, sov'reign dread of hell;
Reviewed his subjects, as our hist'ries tell;
The diff'rent ranks, confounded as they stood,
Kings, nobles, females, and plebeian blood,
Such grief expressed, and made such horrid cries,
As almost stunned, and filled him with surprise.
The monarch, as he passed, desired to know
The cause that sent each shade to realms below.
Some said - my HUSBAND; others WIFE replied;
The same was echoed loud from ev'ry side.

His majesty on this was heard to say:
If truth these shadows to my ears convey,
With ease our glory we may now augment:
I'm fully bent to try th' experiment.
With this design we must some demon send,
Who wily art with prudence well can blend;
And, not content with watching Hymen's flock,
Must add his own experience to the stock.

THE sable senate instantly approved
The proposition that the monarch moved;
Belphegor was to execute the work;
The proper talent in him seemed to lurk:
All ears and eyes, a prying knave in grain
In short, the very thing they wished to gain.

THAT he might all expense and cost defray,
They gave him num'rous bills without delay,
And credit too, in ev'ry place of note,
With various things that might their plan promote.
He was, besides, the human lot to fill,
Of pleasure and of pain: - of good and ill;
In fact, whate'er for mortals was designed,
With his legation was to be combined.
He might by industry and wily art,
His own afflictions dissipate in part;
But die he could not, nor his country see,
Till he ten years complete on earth should be.

BEHOLD him trav'lling o'er th' extensive space;
Between the realms of darkness and our race.
To pass it, scarcely he a moment took;
On Florence instantly he cast a look; - 
Delighted with the beauty of the spot,
He there resolved to fix his earthly lot,
Regarding it as proper for his wiles,
A city famed for wanton freaks and guiles.
Belphegor soon a noble mansion hired,
And furnished it with ev'ry thing desired;
As signor Roderick he designed to pass;
His equipage was large of ev'ry class;
Expense anticipating day by day,
What, in ten years, he had to throw away.

HIS noble entertainments raised surprise;
Magnificence alone would not suffice;
Delightful pleasures he dispensed around,
And flattery abundantly was found,
An art in which a demon should excel:
No devil surely e'er was liked so well.
His heart was soon the object of the FAIR;
To please Belphegor was their constant care.

WHO lib'rally with presents smoothes the road,
Will meet no obstacles to LOVE'S abode.
In ev'ry situation they are sweet,
I've often said, and now the same repeat:
The primum mobile of human kind,
Are gold and silver, through the world we find.

OUR envoy kept two books, in which he wrote
The names of all the married pairs of note;
But that assigned to couples satisfied,
He scarcely for it could a name provide,
Which made the demon almost blush to see,
How few, alas! in wedlock's chains agree;
While presently the other, which contained
Th' unhappy - not a leaf in blank remained.

No other choice Belphegor now had got,
Than - try himself the hymeneal knot.
In Florence he beheld a certain fair,
With charming face and smart engaging air;
Of noble birth, but puffed with empty pride;
Some marks of virtue, though not much beside.
For Roderick was asked this lofty dame;
The father said Honesta* (such her name)
Had many eligible offers found;
But, 'mong the num'rous band that hovered round,
Perhaps his daughter, Rod'rick's suit might take,
Though he should wish for time the choice to make.
This approbation met, and Rod'rick 'gan
To use his arts and execute his plan.

THE entertainments, balls, and serenades,
Plays, concerts, presents, feasts, and masquerades,
Much lessened what the demon with him brought;
He nothing grudged: - whate'er was wished he bought.
The dame believed high honour she bestowed,
When she attention to his offer

Belphegor Addressed To Miss De Chammelay

An Imitation Of Theocritus.

To Madame De La Mésangère.

 Offspring of her to whom, to-day,
 While from thy lovely self away,
 A thousand hearts their homage pay,
 Besides the throngs whom friendship binds to please,
 And some whom love presents thee on their knees!
 A mandate which I cannot thrust aside
 Between you both impels me to divide
 Some of the incense which the dews distil
 Upon the roses of a sacred hill,
 And which, by secret of my trade,
 Is sweet and most delicious made.
 To you, I say, ... but all to say
 Would task me far beyond my day;
 I need judiciously to choose;
 Thus husbanding my voice and muse,
 Whose strength and leisure soon would fail.
 I'll only praise your tender heart, and hale,
 Exalted feelings, wit, and grace,
 In which there's none can claim a higher place,
 Excepting her whose praise is your entail.
 Let not too many thorns forbid to touch
 These roses - I may call them such - 
 If Love should ever say as much.
 By him it will be better said, indeed;
 And they who his advices will not heed,
 Scourge fearfully will he,
 As you shall shortly see.

 A blooming miracle of yore
 Despised his godship's sovereign power;
 They call'd her name Alcimadure.
 A haughty creature, fierce and wild,
 She sported, Nature's tameless child.
 Rough paths her wayward feet would lead
 To darkest glens of mossy trees;
 Or she would dance on daisied mead,
 With nought of law but her caprice.
 A fairer could not be,
 Nor crueller, than she.
 Still charming in her sternest mien, - 
 E'en when her haughty look debarr'd, - 
 What had she been to lover in
 The fortress of her kind regard!
 Daphnis, a high-born shepherd swain,
 Had loved this maiden to his bane.
 Not one regardful look or smile,
 Nor e'en a gracious word, the while,
 Relieved the fierceness of his pain.
 O'erwearied with a suit so vain,
 His hope was but to die;
 No power had he to fly.
 He sought, impell'd by dark despair,
 The portals of the cruel fair.
 Alas! the winds his only listeners were!
 The mistress gave no entrance there - 
 No entrance to the palace where,
 Ingrate, against her natal day,
 She join'd the treasures sweet and gay
 In garden or in wild-wood grown,
 To blooming beauty all her own.
 'I hoped,' he cried,
 'Before your eyes I should have died;
 But, ah! too deeply I have won your hate;
 Nor should it be surprising news
 To me, that you should now refuse
 To lighten thus my cruel fate.
 My sire, when I shall be no more,
 Is charged to lay your feet before
 The heritage your heart neglected.
 With this my pasturage shall be connected,
 My trusty dog, and all that he protected;
 And, of my goods which then remain,
 My mourning friends shall rear a fane.
 There shall your image stand, midst rosy bowers,
 Reviving through the ceaseless hours
 An altar built of living flowers.
 Near by, my simple monument
 Shall this short epitaph present:
 "Here Daphnis died of love. Stop, passenger,
 And say thou, with a falling tear,
 This youth here fell, unable to endure
 The ban of proud Alcimadure."'

 He would have added, but his heart
 Now felt the last, the fatal dart.
 Forth march'd the maid, in triumph deck'd,
 And of his murder little reck'd.
 In vain her steps her own attendants check'd,
 And plead
 That she, at least, should shed,
 Upon her lover dead,
 Some tears of due respect.
 The rosy god, of Cytherea born,
 She ever treated with the deepest scorn:
 Contemning him, his laws, and means of damage,
 She drew her train to dance around his image,
 When, woful to relate,
 The statue fell, and crush'd her with its weight!
 A voice forth issued from a cloud, - 
 And echo bore the words aloud
 Throughout the air wide spread, - 
 "Let all now love - the insensible is dead."
 Meanwhile, down to the Stygian tide
 The shade of Daphnis hied,
 And quaked and wonder'd there to meet
 The maid, a ghostess, at his feet.
 All Erebus awaken'd wide,
 To hear that beauteous homicide
 Beg pardon of the swain who died - 
 For being deaf to love confess'd,
 As was Ulysses to the prayer
 Of Ajax, begging him to spare,
 Or as was Dido's faithless guest.

Daphnis And Alcimadure

Death never taketh by surprise
 The well-prepared, to wit, the wise - 
 They knowing of themselves the time
 To meditate the final change of clime.
 That time, alas! embraces all
 Which into hours and minutes we divide;
 There is no part, however small,
 That from this tribute one can hide.
 The very moment, oft, which bids
 The heirs of empire see the light
 Is that which shuts their fringèd lids
 In everlasting night.
 Defend yourself by rank and wealth,
 Plead beauty, virtue, youth, and health, - 
 Unblushing Death will ravish all;
 The world itself shall pass beneath his pall.
 No truth is better known; but, truth to say,
 No truth is oftener thrown away.

 A man, well in his second century,
 Complain'd that Death had call'd him suddenly;
 Had left no time his plans to fill,
 To balance books, or make his will.
 'O Death,' said he, 'd' ye call it fair,
 Without a warning to prepare,
 To take a man on lifted leg?
 O, wait a little while, I beg.
 My wife cannot be left alone;
 I must set out my nephew's son,
 And let me build my house a wing,
 Before you strike, O cruel king!'
 'Old man,' said Death, 'one thing is sure, - 
 My visit here's not premature.
 Hast thou not lived a century!
 Darest thou engage to find for me?
 In Paris' walls two older men
 Has France, among her millions ten?
 Thou say'st I should have sent thee word
 Thy lamp to trim, thy loins to gird,
 And then my coming had been meet - 
 Thy will engross'd,
 Thy house complete!
 Did not thy feelings notify?
 Did not they tell thee thou must die?
 Thy taste and hearing are no more;
 Thy sight itself is gone before;
 For thee the sun superfluous shines,
 And all the wealth of Indian mines;
 Thy mates I've shown thee dead or dying.
 What's this, indeed, but notifying?
 Come on, old man, without reply;
 For to the great and common weal
 It doth but little signify
 Whether thy will shall ever feel
 The impress of thy hand and seal.'

 And Death had reason, - ghastly sage!
 For surely man, at such an age,
 Should part from life as from a feast,
 Returning decent thanks, at least,
 To Him who spread the various cheer,
 And unrepining take his bier;
 For shun it long no creature can.
 Repinest thou, grey-headed man?
 See younger mortals rushing by
 To meet their death without a sigh - 
 Death full of triumph and of fame,
 But in its terrors still the same. - 
 But, ah! my words are thrown away!
 Those most like Death most dread his sway.

Jean de La Fontaine