These words-the last farewell of loveWere better left unsaid;

For soon, when thou shalt think of me, 'Twill be as of the dead.

We have loved and we are parted,
As wide as pole from pole;
And a heaven-high wall of adamant
Divides us soul from soul.

But yet cast on the words I trace
An idly curious glance,

As on some tale of love and faith,
In days of old romance.

I saw thee and I loved thee-
I felt thou wert in worth

As high above humanity

As heaven above the earth..
I did not think to love thee;
But as time onward flew,
The power and influence of thy soul
Upon my own I knew.

For the feeling grew to madness,

All medicine above,

And then I looked into my heart,

And saw that it was love.

We are parted by a strange decree--
The spirits twined by heaven,
And formed to be each other's bliss,
Apart are rudely riven.

I see thee as the erring see

Their guardian angels part;

As the wretch gives up the last life-hope That cheered his fainting heart;

I look to thee as erst God's sons,

Cast downwards for their sin,
Looked up to heaven's high battlements,
But might not enter in.

But go thy way, I would not pluck
From thy dear heart one thought;

It would not make thee happier,
So let me be forgot.

Lone to a new existence,

I hasten to decay,

With none to smile, with none to cheer

My solltary way;

Save hope to meet thee yet above
That hope will not depart-
But lingering in the wreck of life
Supports my sinking heart.

Far shall I wander, though to me
The sun of joy is dim;

What, for the wretch deprived of thee,
What joy remains for him!

He can have no ambition

He will not strive for fame,
And on the clarion blast of praise
Thou wilt not hear his name.
If in the world thou meet him,
Look not on him with dread;
Thou wilt not see the withered heart
That in his breast lies dead.

THE WIDOW'S WOOER

HE woos me with those honeyed words
That women love to hear,
Those gentle flatteries that fail

So sweet on every ear:
He tells me that my face is fair,
Too fair for grief to shade;
My cheeks, he says, were never meant
In sorrow's gloom to fade.

He stands beside me when I sing
The songs of other days,

And whispers in love's thrilling tones,
The words of heartfelt praise;
And often in my eyes he looks,
Some answering love to see;
In vain he there can only read.
The faith of memory..

He little knows what thoughts awake

With every gentle word;

How, by his looks and tones, the founts

Of tenderness are stirred:

The visions of my youth return,

Joys far too bright to last,

And while he speaks of future bliss,

I think but of the past.

Like lamps in eastern sepulchres,
Amid my heart's deep gloom,
Affection sheds its holiest light
Upon my husband's tomb :
And as those lamps, if brought once more
To upper air, grow dim,
So my soul's love is cold and dead,
Unless it glow for him.

LAY.

A LAY of love! ask yonder sea

For wealth its waves have closed upon-
A song from stern Thermopyla-

A battle-shout from Marathon!
Look on my brow! Reveals it nought?
It hideth deep rememberings,
Enduring as the records wrought
Within the tombs of Egypt's kings!
Take thou the harp-I may not sing-
Awake the Teian lay divine,

Till fire from every glowing string

Shall mingle with the flashing wine!

The Theban lyre but to the sun

Gave forth at morn its answering tone: So mine but echoed when the one,

One sunlit glance was o'er it thrown. The Memnon sounds no more! my lyre A veil upon thy strings is flung : I may not wake the chords of fireThe words that burn upon my tongue. Fill high the cup! I may not singMy hands the crowning buds will twine! Pour-till the wreath I o'er it fling

Shall mingle with the rosy wine!

No lay of love! the lava-stream

Hath left its trace on heart and brain!
No more no more! the maddening theme
Will wake the slumbering fires again!
Fling back the shroud on buried years-
Hail, to the ever-blooming hours!
We'll fill Time's glass with ruby tears,

And twine his bald, old brow with flowers!

Fill high! fill high! I may not sing-
Strike forth the Teian lay divine,
Till fire from every glowing string
Shall mingle with the flashing wine!

TO SOPHIA.-A VALENTINE.

ONE smile of thine, dear lovely maid,
Would glad this bosom more
Than glittering gems, or diadems,
Or India's golden store.

What is this world, with all its toys,
Which men so highly prize,
But fading, most uncertain joys,
Unvalued by the wise?

Wealth, like the gaudy butterfly,
Looks tempting, bright and gay;
But stretch your hand to seize the prize,-
It yields to quick decay!

And grandeur, beauty, fame and power,
Have but their sunny side;

They sink, in fate's unlucky hour,

In dark oblivion's tide.

But yours, dear maid, the charms which last,
While earthly things decay;

Good sense and virtue-hold them fast,

Their perfume lasts for aye.

And O, be mine the happy part,

To share those charms with thee,

Through life's short hour, joined hand and heart, Till heaven shall set us free!

LINES TO FRANCES.

I WOULD have sung of thee before,

The song that friendship loves to sing;

But envy's withering fingers tore

From off my heart the willing string.

All now is past, and I am free

To wake my lyre to mirth or woe;
And from my heart there comes for thee
The words that long hath yearned to flow.

When first we met, our hearts were gay
As birds upon a summer day;

But mine, since then, has throbbed to pain,
It could not feel and throb again.

Thou know'st not what it is to bear
Days, weeks, and months of ceaseless care,
Till every wish and every sigh,

Was that the heart might break and die.

No sorrow yet has filled thy breast-
Peace is its undisturbed guest,

But thou, methinks, canst feel for those
Crushed 'neath a giant weight of woes.

I know thou canst, for in thine eyes,
So soft and bright, the spirit lies:
And on its brow the glance may trace
Virtues that would an angel grace.

Give me thy smile in lonely hour-
'Twill be like dew upon the flowers,
Whose fragile form the sun's fierce gleam
Has withered ere its sweets were seen.

I'LL THINK OF THEE!

WHEN the moon doth rise on high,
And stars are glistening in the sky,
When every flower asleep doth lie-
I'll think of thee!

When the trees all bare appear,
Casting their leaves so dry and sere,
Whispering gently winter's near—
I'll think of thee!

When spring doth come with lovely flowers,
Wakening the heart to happy hours
Of the long-forgotten past of ours-
I'll think of thee!