 of her own heart, which too well informed her he had nothing to fear from not meeting an equal return of regard. Absence had been as painful to her as it had proved to the prisoner, whom love had taught a lesson equally charming and delightful.

- - - - - - -

SONNETS TO ROSELINE.

- - - - - - -

SONNET THE FIRST.

    Ah! what to me are birds or flow'rs,
      The sun's most radiant light!
    I pine away the ling'ring hours,
      And sigh for endless night.
  Come, Roseline, sweet maid, on roses borne,
  Sweet as thyself,—unguarded by a thorn!
- - - - - -

SONNET THE SECOND.

    Fair Roseline, why didst thou chase the gloom
      Which late envelop'd my benighted mind!
    Why didst thou snatch me from a living tomb
      To sigh my hopeless sorrows to the wind!
  Why was I caught in love's bewitching snare,—
  Believ'd thee gentle, tender, kind, and fair!
    Now thou art absent, my desponding soul
      Has lost its wonted pow'rs in sad despair;
    Reason no more mu passion can controul;
      Joy flies with thee, and nought remains but care.
  The blessings thou hast giv'n no more have charms
  And my rack'd mind is torn with wild alarms.
    With soothing words thou didst my cares beguile,
      Taught me the page of learning to explore,
    Banish'd despondence with a gentle smile,—
      Then left me solitary, sad, and poor.
  Would'st thou return, and to my pray'r incline,
  Methinks a dungeon's gloom would be divine!
    If I no more thy beauties must behold,
      Death soon will free me from this painful smart;
    If a proud rival win thee by his gold,
      Soon will despair and anguish break my heart.
  But, though all cares, all sorrows should be mine,
  Heaven shower its brightest gifts on Roseline!
- - - - - -

SONNET THE THIRD

    No more for liberty I pine,
      No more for freedom crave;
    My heart, dear Roseline, is thine,—
      Thy fond, thy faithful slave.
    First taught by thee I own'd love's pow'r,
      And yielded to my chain;
    Sigh through each sad and cheerless hour,
      Yet bless the pleasing pain.
    Sweet Roseline, my heart is thine,
      It beats alone for thee;
    In pity to my vows incline,
      Or set the captive free.
    Like a poor bird, in his lone cage,
      I pine and flutter round,
    Sullen and sad,
