Which through tears above thee

Shines so sadly fair;

Though often dim,

With tears, like him,

Like him my truth will shine,

And-love thee, dearest? love thee?

Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;

When my vows deceive thee,

He will wander too.

A cloud of night

May veil his light,

And death shall darken mine

But-leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, till death I'm thine.

MY HEART AND LUTE,

I GIVE thee all-I can no more-
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;

And, better far, a heart that feels

Much more than lute could tell.

Though love and song may fail, alas! To keep life's clouds away,

At least 'twill make them lighter pass
Or gild them if they stay.

And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings

A discord o'er life's happy strain, Let love but gently touch the strings, "Twill all be sweet again!

PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE!

WHEN I am dead

Then lay my head

In some lone, distant dell,

Where voices ne'er

Shall stir the air,

Or break its silent spell.

If any sound

Be heard around,

Let the sweet bird alone,

That weeps in song

Sing all night long,

"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

Yet, oh, were mine

One sigh of thine,

One pitying word from thee,

Like gleams of heav'n,

To sinners giv❜n,

Would be that word to me.

Howe'er unblest,

My shade would rest

While list'ning to that tone;

Enough 'twould be

To hear from thee,

"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

ROSE OF THE DESERT.

ROSE of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray,
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away;

No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,-
In vestal silence left to live and die,
Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be,
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom!
Destin'd for others, not thyself, to bloom;
Cull'd e'er thy beauty lives through half its day;
A moment cherish'd, and then cast away;

Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot,
Worshipp'd, while blooming-when she fades, forgot.

"TIS ALL FOR THEE.

IF life for me hath joy or light,

"Tis all from thee,

My thoughts by day, my dreams by night,

Are but of thee, of only thee.

Whate'er of hope or peace I know,
My zest in joy, my balm in woe,
To those dear eyes of thine I owe,
'Tis all from thee.

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes,
Seem'd doom'd to thee;

Kept pure till then from other ties,

'Twas all for thee, for only thee.
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay,
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray,

It liv'd for thee, it liv'd for thee.

When Fame would call me to her heights,
She speaks by thee;

And dim would shine her proudest lights,
Unshar'd by thee, unshar'd by thee.

Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine,

Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine,
And wish those wreaths of glory mine,

'Tis all for thee, for only thee.

THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.'

THERE'S a song of the olden time,
Falling sad o'er the ear,

In this song, which is one of the many set to music by myself, the occasional lawlessness of the metre arises, I need hardly say, from the peculiar structure of the air.

L

Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we lov'd to hear.
And ev'n amidst the grand and gay,
When Music tries her gentlest art,
I never hear so sweet a lay,

Or one that hangs so round my heart,
As that song of the olden time,
Falling sad o'er the ear,

Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we lov'd to hear.

And when all of this life is gone,-
Ev'n the hope, ling'ring now,
Like the last of the leaves left on

Autumn's sere and faded bough,

"Twill seem as still those friends were near, Who lov'd me in youth's early day,

If in that parting hour I hear

The same sweet notes, and die away,

To that song of the olden time,
Breath'd, like Hope's farewell strain,

To say, in some brighter clime,
Life and youth will shine again!

WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.

WAKE thee, my dear-thy dreaming
Till darker hours will keep;
While such a moon is beaming,

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep.