THE ACCUSATION OF LOVE.

ADDRESSED TO MRS. L

A lady having requested the author to write, and being answered

that he did not know what subject to choose, told him that she had just lost her glove and assigned him that, if he could find no other subject. He fulfilled his task as follows.

MADAM, in vain you seek your glove:
'Twas stolen—and the thief was Love.
The little urchin, ever wicked,
Swore that at last you should be tricked;
And though he could not steal your heart,
Without a theft would not depart.
“ And truly,” thought the sly deceiver,
“ This glove will serve to mend my quiver."
Then off he scamper'd to the skies,
And in some corner hid his prize.
But soon the hue and cry was given,
And follow'd close the thief to heaven:
Though hid so snug the Muses found him,
And fast in silken fetters bound him.
Dame Venus when she heard the tale
Perceiv'd her rosy cheek grow pale,
And came in haste all bąth'd in tears
That for her son bespoke her fears.

Half chok'd with sobs of bitter grief,
She begg'd in vain for his relief;
And offer'd e'en her doves so handsome,
If she could but

his ransom. To this they gave a flat denial, Declaring he must stand his trial. They said the little wicked creature Had been the greatest thief in nature; His tricks and rogueries were so grievous No monkey could be more mischievous: And for his doings of this sort They vow'd they'd bring him into court. So, deaf to all that she could say, They bore their prisoner away. On earth they have just now alighted, And of those crimes the God indicted, “ That from his very earliest youth “ He always was a foe to truth, "Intrusted secrets still revealing, “ And that he ever would be stealing. “ His sceptre first he stole from Jove, “ Her girdle from the Queen of Love; “ He stole a spark from Mary's eyes, 66 That in a blaze set all the skies; “ From Delia's lips he stole a kiss “ Replete with hope and honied bliss; " He stole the frown from Chloe's face, “ And left a gay smile in its place;

“ And t'other day, with subtle art,
“He stole a vagrant poet's heart:
" And lastly this same prisoner, Love,
“ Has stolen Mrs. Ll-ds glove."
The merits of this cause to try
Sole constituted judge am I:
The Muses gave me my commission
To hear the case and give decision.
In order to complete this errand,
To
you

I issue this my warrant,
That

you forthwith a jury summon To try this foe to man and woman, And since the ladies all insist That none but they shall form the list, "Twere best to give a brief direction That may assist in your selection. Let no soft maid with downcast eye, Whose bosom heaves with many a sigh, Nor her whose spirits, ever gay, In mirth and frolic lead the day, Be of the number: But beware Of Delias and of Chloes there. Their tender hearts, too well I know, Hold commerce with the wily foe, And giddy youth with soft entreaty Would move their melting minds to pity; The prisoner, Love, would be acquitted, And justice of her due outwitted,

But muster of Old Maids a jury,
And give the culprit to their fury,
Ten thousand pounds against a shilling,
That they will hang the little villain.

02

EXTRACTS FROM THE WANDERER.

AN UNFINISHED POEM.

To relieve the tedium of many a vacant hour while secluded

from the world on the coast of Barbary, the author com. menced this poem. The object of it was to exemplify a wild idea which he then entertained, that genius was totally incompatible with prudence, and that superior abilities were a full excuse for extravagance and irregularity. The fallacy and pernicious tendency of this sentiment have been long evident to him, and on his return to civilized society the poem was not only discontinued but the greater part of it was destroyed. The following extracts comprise almost all of it that is now remaining; two of which will be found of a different metre from the rest, for the recitative of the blank verse was sometimes interrupted by smaller pieces in rhyme.* This innovation however is not without a precedent.

I. Character of the Wanderer.

FULL early did his infant bosom beat,
And every heart-string dance to hear the lyre
Struck by a poet's hand: full early too
Did himself venture with unskilful touch
To wake the sacred chords to native strains
Of mirth, and life, and joy; and inly pleas'd
At his performance, gave a conscious smile
Self-approbant, and paus'd;--and rais'd again
The wild song varying as caprice inspir'd;