Such as thou art to-night-could time restore me
That wealth of loving-shouldst thou have it all,
To waste perchance again?

No! Thou didst break the coffers of my heart,
And set so lightly by the hoard within,
That I too learn'd at last the squanderer's art-
Went idly here and there,
Filing my soul, and lavishing a part

On each, less cold than thou, who cared to win
And seem'd to prize a share.

No! Thou didst wither up my flowering youth.
If blameless, still the bearer of a blight;
The unconscious agent of the deadliest ruth
That human heart hath riven;
Teaching me scorn of my own spirit's truth;
Holding, not me, but that fond worship light
Which link'd my soul to Heaven.

No, no! For me the weakest heart before
One so untouch'd by tenderness as thine;
Angels have enter'd through the frail tent door
That pass the palace now-
And He who spake the words, "Go, sin no more,"
Mid human passions saw the spark divine,

But not in such as thou!

ROSALIE CLARE.

WHO owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield;

For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE CLARE.

When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is

pour'd,

And fond wishes for fair ones around offer'd up
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup,
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there,
Or is whisper'd more warmly, than ROSALIE CLARE?
They may talk of the land of the olive and vine,
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine;
Of the houris that gladden the East with their
smiles,
[isles;
Where the sea's studded over with green summer
But what flower of far-away clime can compare
With the blossom of ours-bright ROSALIE CLARE?
Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair?
Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE!
Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form,
And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm,
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air
Than that which is bless'd by sweet ROSALIECLARE.

THINK OF ME, DEAREST.

THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking
Away from the sable chains of night,
When the sun, his ocean-couch forsaking,
Like a giant first in his strength awaking,
Is flinging abroad his limbs of light;

As the breeze that first travels with morning forth,
Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth---
As the dream that has cheated my soul through the
night,

Let me in thy thoughts come fresh with the light.

Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking
In the soft embrace of twilight gray,
When the starry eyes of heaven are winking,
And the weary flowers their tears are drinking,

As they start like gems on the moon-touch'd spray.
Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve,
As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave,
When they, blushing, tremble along the deep,
While stealing away to their place of sleep.

Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling
Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee;
When words are winning and looks are wiling,
And those words and looks, of others, beguiling
Thy fluttering heart from love and me.
Let me come true in thy thoughts in that hour;
Let my trust and my faith-my devotion-have

WE PARTED IN SADNESS.

WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign, I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting, Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: Each felt that the past we could never recover, Each felt that the future no hope could restore; She shudder'd at wringing the heart of her lover, I dared not to say I must meet her no more.

Long years have gone by, and the spring-time smiles

ever

As o'er our young loves it first smiled in their birth. Long years have gone by, yet that parting, O! never Can it be forgotten by either on earth. [ven, The note of each wild bird that carols toward heaMust tell her of swift-winged hopes that were mine, And the dew that steals over each blossom at even, Tells me of the tear-drop that wept their decline.

THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS. And first behold this cordial Julep here, That flames and dances in its crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed; Not that Nepenthes which the wife of THOME In Egypt gave to Jove-born HELENA, Is of such power to stir up Joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.

MILTON-Comus

"Tis said that the gods, on Olympus of old,

(And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt ?)

One night, 'mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid [o'er, In composing a draught, which, till drinking were Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,

Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board

Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical

power,

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that

hour.

FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,

And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,

The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole. The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim,

Though something yet wanting they all did beBut juleps the drink of immortals became, [wail; When JOVE himself added a handful of hail.

"I shrink not the trial," that bluff knight replied"But I battle-not I-for an unwilling bride; Where the boldest may venture to do and to dare, My pennon shall flutter-my bugle peal there!

"I quail not at aught in the struggle of life,
I'm not all unproved even now in the strife,
But the wreath that I win, all unaided-alone,
Round a faltering brow it shall never be thrown!"

"Now fie on thy manhood, to deem it a sin
That she loveth the glory thy falchion might win;
Let them doubt of thy prowess and fortune no more;
Up! Sir Knight, for thy lady-and do thy devoir!"
"She hath shrunk from my side, she hath fail'd in
her trust,

Not relied on my blade, but remember'd its rust; It shall brighten once more in the field of its fame, But it is not for her I would now win a name."

The knight rode away, and the lady she sigh'd, When he featly as ever his steed would bestride, While the mould from the banner he shook to the wind

Seem'd to fall on the breast he left aching behind. But the rust on his glaive and the rust in his heart Had corroded too long and too deep to depart, And the brand only brighten'd in honour once more, When the heart ceased to beat on the fray-trampled shore.

TO AN AUTUMN ROSE.

TELL her I love her-love her for those eyes
Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth
Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,
Reveal two heavens here to us on Earth-
The one in which their soulful beauty lies,
And that wherein such soulfulness has birth:
Go to my lady ere the season flies,
And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast-
Go! and with all of eloquence thou hast,
The burning story of my love discover,
And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her,
Tell her when youth's gay budding-time is past,
And summer's gaudy flowering is over,
Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!

SYMPATHY.

WELL! call it Friendship! have I ask'd for more,
Even in those moments, when I gave thee most?
"I'was but for thee, I look'd so far before!
I saw our bark was hurrying blindly on,
A guideless thing upon a dangerous coast―

With thee-with thee, where would I not have gone?
But could I see thee drift upon the shore,
Unknowing drift upon a shore, unknown?
Yes, call it Friendship, and let no revealing
If love be there, e'er make love's wild name heard,
It will not die, if it be worth concealing!
Call it then Friendship-but oh, let that word
Speak but for me-for me, a deeper feeling
Than ever yet a lover's bosom stirr'd!

A PORTRAIT.

NoT hers the charms which Laura's lover drew, Or Titian's pencil on the canvas threw; No soul enkindled beneath southern skies Glow'd on her cheek and sparkled in her eyes; No prurient charms set off her slender form With swell voluptuous and with contour warm; While each proportion was by Nature told In maiden beauty's most bewitching mould. High on her peerless brow-a radiant throne Unmix'd with aught of earth-pale genius sat alone. And yet, at times, within her eye there dwelt Softness that would the sternest bosom melt; A depth of tenderness which show'd, when woke, That woman there as well as angel spoke. Yet well that eye could flash resentment's rays, Or, proudly scornful, check the boldest gaze; Chill burning passion with a calm disdain, Or with one glance rekindle it again. Her mouth-Oh! never fascination met Near woman's lips half so alluring yet: For round her mouth there play'd, at times, a smile, Such as did man from Paradise beguile; Such, could it light him through this world of pain, As he'd not barter Eden to regain.

What though that smile might beam alike on all; What though that glance on each as kindly fall; What though you knew, while worshipping their

power,

Your homage but the pastime of the hour,
Still they, however guarded were the heart,
Could every feeling from its fastness start-
Deceive one still, howe'er deceived before,
And make him wish thus to be cheated more,
Till, grown at last in such illusions gray,
Faith follow'd Hope and stole with Love away.
Such was Alinda; such in her combined
Those charms which round our very nature wind;
Which, when together they in one conspire,
He who admires must love-who sees, admire.
Variably perilous; upon the sight
Now beam'd her beauty in resistless light,
And subtly now into the heart it stole,
And, ere it startled, occupied the whole.
"Twas well for her, that lovely mischief, well
That she could not the pangs it waken'd tell;
That, like the princess in the fairy tale,
No soft emotions could her soul assail;
For Nature, that Alinda should not feel
For wounds her eyes might make, but never heal,-
In mercy, while she did each gift impart
Of rarest excellence, withheld a heart!

INDIAN SUMMER, 1828.

LIGHT as love's smiles, the silvery mist at morn Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river; The blue bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne, As high in air he carols, faintly quiver; The weeping birch, like banners idly waving, Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving; Beaded with dew, the witch-elm's tassels shiver; The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping, And from the springy spray the squirrel's gayly leaping.

I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery ere The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes That richly deck the slow-declining year; I love the splendour of thy sunset skies, The gorgeous hues that tinge each failing leaf, Lovely as beauty's cheek, as woman's love too, I love the note of each wild bird that flies, [brief; As on the wind he pours his parting lay, And wings his loitering flight to summer climes away.

O, Nature! still I fondly turn to thee, With feelings fresh as e'er my childhood's were;Though wild and passion-toss'd my youth may be, Toward thee I still the same devotion bear; To thee-to thee-though health and hope no more Life's wasted verdure may to me restoreI still can, child-like, come as when in prayer I bow'd my head upon a mother's knee, And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity.

TOWN REPININGS.

RIVER! O, river! thou rovest free,
From the mountain height to the fresh blue sea!
Free thyself, but with silver chain,
Linking each charm of land and main,
From the splinter'd crag thou leap'st below,
Through leafy glades at will to flow-
Lingering now, by the steep's moss'd edge—
Loitering now mid the dallying sedge:
And pausing ever, to call thy waves
From grassy meadows and fern-clad caves—
And then, with a prouder tide to break
From wooded valley, to breezy lake:
Yet all of these scenes, though fair they be,
River! O, river! are bann'd to me.

River! O, river! upon thy tide
Full many a freighted bark doth glide;
Would that thou thus couldst bear away
The thoughts that burthen my weary day!
Or that I, from all save them made free,
Though laden still, might rove with thee!
True that thy waves brief lifetime find,
And live at the will of the wanton wind-
True that thou seekest the ocean's flow,
To be lost therein for evermoe.

Yet the slave who worships at Glory's shrine,
But toils for a bubble as frail as thine:

But loses his freedom here, to be
Forgotten as soon as in death set free.

Yet not in resentment thy love I resign;

I blame not--upbraid not-one motive of thine;
I ask not what change has come over thy heart,
I reck not what chances have doom'd us to part;
I but know thou hast told me to love thee no more,
And I still must obey where I once did adore.

Farewell, then, thou loved one--O! loved but too well,

Too deeply, too blindly, for language to tellFarewell! thou hast trampled love's faith in the dust, Thou hast torn from my bosom its hope and its trust! Yet, if thy life's current with bliss it would swell, I would pour out my own in this last fond farewell!

I WILL LOVE HER NO MORE.

I WILL love her no more -'t is a waste of the heart,
This lavish of feeling-a prodigal's part:
Who, heedless the treasure a life could not earn,
Squanders forth where he vainly may look for return.

I will love her no more; it is folly to give
Our best years to one, when for many we live.
And he who the world will thus barter for one,
I ween by such traffic must soon be undone.

I will love her no more; it is heathenish thus
To bow to an idol which bends not to us;
Which heeds not, which hears not, which recks
not for aught

That the worship of years to its altar hath brought.

I will love her no more; for no love is without
Its limit in measure, and mine hath ran out;
She engrosseth it all, and, till some she restore,
Than this moment I love her, how can I love more?.

THEY ARE MOCKERY ALL.

THEY are mockery all-those skies, those skies-
Their untroubled depths of blue—
They are mockery all-these eyes, these eyes,
Which seem so warm and true,

Each tranquil star in the one that lies,
Each meteor glance that at random flies

The other's lashes through;

They are mockery all, these flowers of spring,
Which her airs so softly woo

And the love to which we would madly cling,

Ay! it is mockery too;

The winds are false which the perfume stir,
And the looks deceive to which we sue,
And love but leads to the sepulchre,
Which the flowers spring to strew.

MELODY.

WHEN the flowers of Friendship or Love have decay'd,

In the heart that has trusted and once been betray'd,
No sunshine of kindness their bloom can restore;
For the verdure of feeling will quicken no more!

Hope cheated too often when life's in its spring,
From the bosom that nursed it for ever takes wing!
And Memory comes, as its promises fade,
To brood o'er the havoc that Passion has made.

As 'tis said that the swallow the tenement leaves
Where ruin endangers her nest in the eaves,
While the desolate owl takes her place on the wall,
And builds in the mansion that nods to its fall.

MORNING HYMN.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke,

And light around creation flow'd.
The glad earth smiled to see the day,
The first-born day, come blushing in;
The young day smiled to shed its ray
Upon a world untouch'd by sin.

"Let there be light!" O'er heaven and earth, The Gon who first the day-beam pour'd,

Utter'd again his fiat forth,

And shed the gospel's light abroad,
And, like the dawn, its cheering rays
On rich and poor were meant to fall,
Inspiring their Redeemer's praise,
In lowly cot and lordly hall.
Then come, when in the orient first

Flushes the signal-light for prayer;
Come with the earliest beams that burst

From Gon's bright throne of glory there.
Come kneel to Him who through the night
Hath watch'd above thy sleeping soul,
To Him whose mercies, like his light,
Are shed abroad from pole to pole.

THE WESTERN HUNTER TO HIS

MISTRESS.

WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods, wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend,

Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep. Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit, From the saffron orchis and lupin blue,

And those like the foam on my courser's bit. One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, One hand of each on the bridle meet; And beneath the wrist that entwines me there, An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. I will sing thee many a joyous lay,

As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side, While the winds that over the prairie play

Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride. Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, And our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm gleams [meet.

Through the branches around our lodge that Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, Where no watching eye shall over us bend, Save the blossoms that into thy bower peep.

THY NAME.

Ir comes to me when healths go round,
And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing
The flowers of wit, with music wound,

Are freshly from the goblet breathing;
From sparkling song and sally gay
It comes to steal my heart away,
And fill my soul, mid festal glee,
With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee.
It comes to me upon the mart,

Where care in jostling crowds is rife ;
Where Avarice goads the sordid heart,

Or cold Ambition prompts the strife;
It comes to whisper, if I'm there,
"Tis but with thee each prize to share,
For Fame were not success to me,
Nor riches wealth unshared with thee.
It comes to me when smiles are bright
On gentle lips that murmur round me,
And kindling glances flash delight

In eyes whose spell would once have bound me.
It comes--but comes to bring alone
Remembrance of some look or tone,
Dearer than aught I hear or see,
Because 't was born or breathed by thee.

It comes to me where cloister'd boughs
Their shadows cast upon the sod;
A while in Nature's fane my vows

Are lifted from her shrine to Gon;
It comes to tell that all of worth
I dream in heaven or know on earth,
However bright or dear it be,
Is blended with my thought of thee.