Oh I loved thee too sincerely,
Thou wert more than life to me;
But thy faith is broken early,

Too soon the fatal change I see.
Often have you, fondly kneeling,
Vowed to love but me alone:
But could you boast one tender feeling,
When you left me thus to moau?
But go---thy love no more detaining,
I bid thee now a long adieu;
And may no spark of love remaining,
In fancy call my form to view.

I bid thee think thou hast not wronged me,
Nor remorse when useless feel!
For tho' this bosom still beats for thee,
It shall ne'er it's pangs reveal.
Now farewell! and may that power
Who controuls this world below,
Choicest blessings on thee shower,
And guide thee, both in weal and woe.

TO HANNAH.

SAPPHO.

WHILE fast down my cheek rolls the tear-drop of anguish,

Sad Philomel breathes her sweet notes from a tree; Along this wild shore as I fruitlessly languish,

The cold beating rain weeps in concert with me: Here I pensively muse on the cause of my sorrow,; Which memory will surely recal on each morrow, Whilst even from hope no bright ray can I borrow, The cold beating rain weeps in concert with me. While I anxiously gaze on the wide spreading ocean, Frail dreams of fond fancy, transport me to thee; But the loud-roaring surge soon dispels the vain notion, And the cold beating rain weeps in concert with me. Here, frenzied, I bind round my temples the willow; Of the damp sandy sea weed, I form my low pillow, And despondently sigh to the high-mounting billow, While the cold beating rain weeps in concert with me. Marsham Street, Westminster.

S.H.B.

THE RIVALS:

A SERIO-COMIC TRAGEDY.

Persons Represented.

Janvan, King of Bedæa.

Stephens Antesblan, His Prime Minister. Nogcog, Kidlam, Galloper, and Demas, Courtiers. Billingtonina.'

ACT I. SCENE I.

King Janvan, surrounded by his Courtiers.

JANVAN.

AWAY my generous friends; you may depart, For lonesome solitude invades my heart.

JANVAN. (solus)

Exit Courtiers.

Oh! peerless Cupid, potent god of love,
Thou dost the thickest, thinnest noddles move.
Myself of late so witty and so gay,

Am metamorphosed to a lump of clay.

My tongue which warbled forth seraphic strains,
Serves but to utter now a thousand pains;
But of these cares by George I've had enough,
So here goes care and all such cursed stuff!

ENTER STEPHENS.

Ah! welcome Stephens friend to me so dear! Pray what i'th' devil's name has brought you here?

STEPHENS.

My legs, good prince: and I've such news to tell, Though now you look so ill, they'll make you well.

JANVAN.

What are they, Stephens? If thou'st aught to say, Pray tell it quickly, how 're the stocks to-day?

STEPHENS.

Rising, my lord. But now here comes my tale :
Last night as I was sitting o'er my ale,
Drinking vast deeply, as the actors say---
Aye! let me sec, 'tis Hamlet in the player

Who should step in, a wonderous pretty dear,
Her mouth so tittering and her lips so queer,
Like two black cherries which the sun hath beat,
And crack'd i'th' middle with his scorching heat.
An elegant red cloak about her thrown

Displayed a bosom, Venus self might own:
Her auburn hair, the darkest shade of red,
Was spread in elf locks o'er her beauteous head.
Her breath---I kissed her---oh delicious task
Smelt sweetly of Geneva from the cask.

JAN VAN.

If such she was, I wonder not my friend ThatCupid's darts your am'rous breast should rend. I am in love, and I must own it too,

For love triumphant reigns o'er great and low.

ENTER BILLINGTONINA.

STEPHENS.

By Heavens the maid I love !--

JANVAN.

-Thy love! She's mine!

The maid I love, the damsel so divine,

STEPHENS.

Tyrant, she's mine,

JANVAN.

Thou lying meddling elf

Mine shall she be, I'll have her to myself.

BILLINGTONINA.

Who are these men, that stamp and swear so loud,
And strut and swagger thus about the crowd?
Peace, masters, peace, what is it that you wish,
Do you want me or do you want my fish?
If you'll take all they are but just two shilling,
And I to sell them all am very willing.

JANVAN.

Angelic, beauteous, ever-loving fair.--

STEPHENS.

Usurper off! what are you doing there!

JANVAN.

Traitor begone! what shall Bedœea's prince
Yield aught to thee, or in his project wince?

Quickly begone, or in a porter vat

Drowned shalt thou be, I swear it, and that's flat.
STEPHENS.

Tyrant unjust I scorn thy threats and thee,
And that I'll have this maid thou soon shalt see.
Now if thou stirrest but to give command,
By Heaven, thon diest by this powerful hand.
[draws.

JAN VAN. (laughs)

And dost thou think my sword's less sharp than thine?
It's edge less cutting and it's point less fine?
Behold it now (draws) and if thou dar'st to fight,
Thus feel my valour and approve my might.
They fight.

I'll hit thee now.

(Stabs him)

STEPHENS.

"I do confess a hit."

JANVAN.

Yes thou shalt go to Hell's dark dreary pit.

STEPHENS. [Stephens falls.

Slain tho' I am, ah! yet before I go,

To dark Cimmerian groves and caves below,
Before death grapples with my tortured soul,
And drags me where I must both weep and howl,
Have at thy heart (Stabs Janvan) ha! ha! a goodly
blow,

Revenge is glutted, Demons now I go. [dies.

And art thou gone, and must I follow too,
Yes, yes, by Heaven, my heart is split in two :
His sword was sharp, he was a cursed fool
To spit me thus with that infernal tool!
Reft of a glorious supper, and a wife,

By that foul wretch's ugly looking knife. [dies.

BILLINGTONINA,

Ah! woe is me, and was it through my charms,
That cruel death did take them to his arms!
Two beauteous men! what pretty handsome corses,
Pity that now they should be dead as horses :.
ought to follow those I helped to kill,
And as I ought, by Jericho I will.

And now my tragic end I will begin,

And mix my poison in a glass of gin; [drinks.
Oh! how it works, it feels most devilish queer,
It's in my head, my belly-no, it's here.

FINALE.

STEPHENS. rising up. Come sweet angelic maid. JANVAN. rising up. For you alone we stayed. BOTH. Oh stay not here below. BILLINGTONINA: I go, my dears, I go. Manchester, March 5, 1821.

LINES TO MISS TIMBRELL,

ON

VALENTINE'S DAY, 1821.

[dies.

T. HALL.

THOUGH hearts and darts oft times appear
To greet Saint Valentine,

Yet, Mary, no such trifling here
Is offered at his shrine.

"Tis not the lover would explain

The woes that rend his breast,
The frown that fills his soul with pain,
The smile that makes him blest.

"Tis not the flatterer seeks thine ear,
That he by rote may swear
Thou to his heart alone art dear,
That thou alone art fair:

Nor he who would with specious wile,
And blandishing displays,
From Virtue's paths thy feet beguile
To tread forbidden ways.

But one who in sincerity

Would call himself thy friend,
Who, though his language may seein free,
Would wish not to offend.

Then, Mary, while his humble lay
With favour you receive,

In kind return he will essay
Some gentle hints to give,