I'm sure the lieutenant's a horrible bear:

And I-am left all alone!

ΙΙΙ.

Whenever we go on the Downs for a ride,-
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
She looks for another to trot by her side:

And I am left all alone!

And whenever I take her down stairs from a ball,
She nods to some puppy to put on her shawl:
I'm a peaceable man, and I don't like a brawl;—
Where is she gone, where is she gone?

But I would give a trifle to horsewhip them all;
And I am left all alone!

IV.

She tells me her mother belongs to the sect,——
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
Which holds that all waltzing is quite incorrect:
And I-am left all alone!

But a fire's in my heart, and a fire's in my brain,
When she waltzes away with Sir Phelim O'Shane;
I don't think I ever can ask her again:

Where is she gone, where is she gone?

And, Lord! since the summer she's grown very plain;

And I-am left all alone!

V.

She said that she liked me a twelvemonth ago;

Where is she gone, where is she gone?

And how should I guess that she'd torture me so?

And I-am left all alone!

Some day she'll find out it was not very wise
To laugh at the breath of a true lover's sighs;
After all, Fanny Myrtle is not such a prize:
Where is she gone, where is she gone?-
Louisa Dalrymple has exquisite eyes;
And I'll be no longer alone!

(1831.)

THE CONFESSION.

I.

FATHER-Father-I confess

Here he kneeled and sighed,
When the moon's soft loveliness
Slept on turf and tide.

In my ear the prayer he prayed
Seems to echo yet;

But the answer that I made

Father-I forget!

Ora pro me!

II.

Father-Father-I confess

Precious gifts he brought; Satin sandal, silken dress;

Richer ne'er were wrought; Gems that make the daylight dim,

Plumes in gay gold set;— But the gaud I gave to him-

Father-I forget!

Ora pro me!

Since our young hearts met;

What my own may sometimes be

Father-I forget!

LAST WORDS.

I.

FARE thee well, love,-fare thee well! From the world I pass away,

Where the brightest things that dwell All deceive, and all decay;

Cheerfully I fall asleep,

As by some mysterious spell;

Yet I weep, to see thee weep;

Fare thee well, love,-fare thee well!

II.

Tell of me, love, tell of me!

Not amid the heartless throng;

Not where Passion bends the knee,--
Not where Pleasure trills the song;

But when some most cherished one
By your side at eve shall be,
Ere your twilight tales are done,

Tell of me, love,-tell of me!