grow Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid Love went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe’er Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read Her every rising wish, then only pleased When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais’d.  “Glory to thee whose vivifying power Pervades all Nature’s universal frame! Glory to thee Creator Love! to thee, Parent of all the smiling Charities, That strew the thorny path of Life with flowers! Glory to thee Preserver! to thy praise The awakened woodlands echo all the day Their living melody; and warbling forth To thee her twilight song, the Nightingale Holds the lone Traveller from his way, or charms The listening Poet’s ear. Where Love shall deign To fix his seat, there blameless Pleasure sheds Her roseate dews; Content will sojourn there, And Happiness behold Affection eye Gleam with the Mother’s smile. Thrice happy he Who feels thy holy power! he shall not drag, Forlorn and friendless, along Life’s long path To Age’s drear abode; he shall not waste The bitter evening of his days unsooth’d; But Hope shall cheer his hours of Solitude, And Vice shall vainly strive to wound his breast, That bears that talisman; and when he meets The eloquent eye of Tenderness, and hears The bosom-thrilling music of her voice; The joy he feels shall purify his Soul, And imp it for anticipated Heaven.” 

  [8] In the cabinet of the Alhambra where the Queen used to dress and say her prayers, and which is still an enchanting sight, there is a slab of marble full of small holes, through which perfumes exhaled that were kept constantly burning beneath. The doors and windows are disposed so as to afford the most agreeable prospects, and to throw a soft yet lively light upon the eyes. Fresh currents of air too are admitted, so as to renew every instant the delicious coolness of this apartment.—Sketch of the History of the Spanish Moors, prefixed to Florian’s Gonsalvo of Cordova. 

  [9] “The grave matron does not perceive how time has impaired her charms, but decks her faded bosom with the same snow-drop that seems to grow on the breast of the Virgin.”—P.H. 

 

The Rose

 Betwene the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the feld florisched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadde don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche sche was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made hire preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was 

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