FOR ANNIE.

THANK Heaven! the crisis-
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last-

And the fever called "Living "
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know

I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move

As I lie at full length-
But no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder

Might fancy me dead—
Might start at beholding me,

Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing At heart-ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing!

The sickness-the nausea-
The pitiless pain—
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain-
With the fever called "Living "
That burned my brain.
And oh of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated-the terrible
Torture of thirst

For the napthaline river
Of Passion accurst:-
I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst :—

Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground—
From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

In a different bed

And, to sleep you must slumber In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting its rosesIts old agitations

Of myrtles and roses :

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies

A holier odour

About it, of pansies— A rosemary odour,

Commingled with pansiesWith rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing in many

THE ring is on my hand,

And the wreath is on my brow;

Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,

And I am happy now.

And my lord he loves me well;

But, when first he breathed his vow,

I felt my bosom swell—

For the words rang as a knell,

And the voice seemed his who fell

'In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.

But he spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"

And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden token

That proves me happy now!

Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.

TO F

BELOVED! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path—
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)–

My soul at least a solace hath

In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me

Like some enchanted far-off isle

In some tumultuous sea

Some ocean throbbing far and free

With storms-but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually

Just o'er that one bright island smile.