Treasures

The ruw, preserred wlth tender care; The perfamed note, the tress of hair That speak of boyisli folly- Froui cosy depths of easy chalr I scuu them all wiüi shrugginfl air Of cynlc melancholy. The "carte de dance," the crimipled jrlove; The uelted purse- "vvith Polly's love"- (Confouud it wliicli was lolly?) The poesy ring I irave to Bess, When soft-ly camo that whispeml "Yes," Whloli seemed a dieam of lieaven, We turtle-doves were wout to plan (Ou soiuethiuti vt'ry small pur aun.) A (laiuty cote in Devon. Ali flckle Bess ! she ran away Witli Piiller, of the Huards, they say, Aud died in ':!7. Ah, lips of woinau .' - rosy, ripe - Tbe aniher moutlrpieoe of my pipe To me is twice as cliaiminpf. When oue arrivés at fifty odd, The arrows of the arther god Have lost their power of liarinin. A wouuded hearl wil) aclie 00 doubt; Hut theu one timlsa twiuife of gout A trille more alarming !