Then, like the infant at the breast,
That feels a sorrow unexprest,
That pang shall gentle Delia know,
And silent treasure up her woe.

[Footnote A: I am indebted to Petrarch for some of the imagery
contained in these Lines.]




VALENTINE VERSES,

_Sent to my young Friend, Miss Emma Trevelyan_,

OF WALLINGTON-HOUSE, NORTHUMBERLAND.


Emma! 'tis early time for thee
To hear the sounds of minstrelsy,
That breathe around the rosy shrine
Of honest old Saint Valentine.

Too young art thou for strains of love;
'Tis not thy passion I would move;
Instead of lover's strains, I send
The cordial wishes of a friend.

Nobly has Nature done her duty,
To give thee of thy mother's beauty