■FirSatn. 185 
Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven, 
And, had she lived before the siege of Troy, 
Helen, whose beauty summoned Greece to arms, 
And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, 
Had not been named in Homer’s Iliad; 
Her name had been in every line he wrote. 
Marlowe. 
Not all the charms that superstition gave 
To plants in lonely forests found, 
Could work such magic in Love’s doting slave, 
As the voice which his wishes crowned. 
Anon. 
A voice of laughter—a voice of glee ! 
Among the maidens, who happy as she ? 
By love’s enchantment her thrilling breast 
Is wildly, witchingly, over-blest: 
And gushing joys, like the sun in May, 
Enliven the noon of her bridal-day. 
MacKellar. 
Mysterious plant! whose golden tresses wave 
With a sad beauty in the dying year, 
Blooming amid November’s frost severe, 
Like a pale corpse-light o’er the recent grave. 
If shepherds tell us true, thy wand hath power, 
With gracious influence, to avert the harm 
Of ominous planets. 
Token, 1831. 
16* 
