ONE STRUggle morE, AND I AM FREE.

ONE struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in
twain;

One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.

It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleased be fore:

Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring!
Man was not formed to live alone;
I'll be that light, unmeaning thing,
That smiles with all, and weeps with

One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years.

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.

IF sometimes in the haunts of men Thine image from my breast may fade,

The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemned, appear to smile, Unfaithful to thy memory! Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine;

I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.

If not the goblet pass unquaffed,

It is not drained to banish care; The cup must hold a deadlier draught, That brings a Lethe for despair. And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl That drowned a single thought of thee.

For wert thou vanished from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind