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I wove a wreath, 'twas fresh and fair,

Rich roses in their crimson pride, And the blue harebell flowers were there ;

I wove and flung the wreath aside : Too much did those bright blossoms speak Of thy dear eyes and youthful cheek.

I took my lute; methought its strain

Might wile the heavy hours along;
I strove to fill my heart and brain

With the sweet breath of ancient song:
In vain; whate'er I made my choice
Was fraught with thy bewitching voice.

And down I laid the restless lute,

And turned me to the poet's page; And vainly deemed that converse mute, Unmingled might my heart

engage: But in the poet's work I find The fellow essence of thy mind.

I wandered midst the silent wood,

And sought the greenest, coolest glade, Where not a sunbeam might intrude;

And in a chestnut's quiet shade
I sate, and in that leafy gloom,
Thought of the darkness of the tomb.

And strove to lead my heart to drink

At the deep founts of wandering thought, To ponder on the viewless link

Between our souls and bodies wrought; To quench my passionate dreams of thee Awhile in that philosophy.

Yet, all the while, thine image bright,

Still flitted by my mind to win,
Casting through dreamy thoughts its light,

Like sunshine that would enter in ;
And every leaf and every tree
Seemed quivering with beams of thee.

Beloved! I will strive no more!

Thine image, in vice-regal power,
Shall ruling sit all memories o'er,

Throned in my heart, until the hour
When thou thyself shalt come again,
Restoring there thine olden reign.

The next poem is also written in a hopeful mood :

Fear not, beloved, though clouds may lower,

Whilst rainbow visions melt away,
Faith’s holy star hath still a power

That may the deepest midnight sway.
Fear not! I take a prophet's tone,

Our love can neither wane nor set;
My heart grows strong in trust: mine own,

We shall be happy yet!

What though long anxious years have passed,

Since this true heart was vowed to thine,
There comes for us a light at last,

Whose beam upon our path shall shine.
We, who have loved ʼmid doubts and fears,

Yet never with one hour's regret;
There comes a joy to gild our tears ;
We shall be happy yet!

Ay, by the wandering birds, that find

A home beyond the mountain wave,
Though wind, and rain, and hail, combined

To bow them to an ocean grave;
By summer suns that brightly rise,

Though erst in mournful tears they set;
By all Love's hopeful prophecies,

We shall be happy yet!

It is really pleasant to know that, although the bliss was short in duration, yet the vows of that faithful heart were heard. Here is one other love note :

Another year is dying fast,

A chequered year of joy and woe,
And dark and light alike are past,

The rose and thorn at once laid low :
All things are changed ;--and I am changed,

Even in the love I knew before,
Not that my heart can be estranged,

But I have learnt to love thee more,

Yes, to mine ear thine accents all,

Have grown more welcome and more glad,
Thy coming step more musical,

And thy departing tread more sad.
They say the first bright dawn of love

Hath bliss no other time can show;
But I have lived and learned to know

How dearer far its future glow.

Their disappointments we have proved,

Dark clouds across our path have been;
Yet better through them all we loved,

As dark and drearier grew the scene.
Oh! would this truth could bring relief

To thee, when earthly cares annoy,
That I would rather share thy grief

Than revel in another's joy.

A temperament so framed must, of necessity, take pleasure in the beauties of Nature. I must make room for a few stanzas of her


The summer sunshine falls
O’er the hot vistas of the crowded town,

Startling the dusty walls
With beauty and with glory not their own;

The summer skies are bright,
A canopy of peace above the strife

Of human hearts that fight
And struggle on the battle plain of life.

Summers have passed away
Since I a dweller mid this scene became,

And still their earliest ray
Hath sent a thirsty longing through my frame;

A longing to be far
In the green woodlands, in the pastures fair,

And not as travellers are;
My heart hath yearned to be a dweller there.

It comes, it comes at last;
All I have panted for is near me now;

Ere many hours have past,
A cool untroubled breeze shall fan my brow.

The faint continuous hum
That hath been round me till 'twas scarcely heard,

No more shall near me come
To mar the melodies of bee or bird.

No more the sultry street
Shall echo to my quick uneasy tread;
Gladly I turn


To where the turf in daisied pride is spread.

No more the whirling wheel,
The tramping horses, and the people's shout;-

Oh! how my heart will feel
The pleasant quiet circling me about.

Blessed to go away,
To where the wild-flower blooms and wood-bird sings,

And lightly o’er the spray
The purple vetch its wreathing garland flings.

One more I must quote, of a still different strain. It was left without a title, a mere fragment amongst her papers; but the Editor of the “ Dublin University Magazine” has called it


Oh, woe for those whose dearest themes

Must rest within the bosom's fold !
Oh, woe for those who live on dreams,

Unheeded by the coarse and cold.

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