There are names that we cherish, though nameless;

For aye on the lip they may be ;

There are hearts that, though fetter'd, are tameless,

And thoughts unexpress'd, but still free!

And some are too grave for a rover,

And some for a husband too light.

-The ball and my dream are all over—

Good night to thee, lady! good night!

JOSEPHINE.

We did not meet in courtly hall,
Where Birth and Beauty throng,
Where Luxury holds festival,

And wit awakes the song;

We met where darker spirits meet,
In the home of Sin and Shame,
Where Satan shows his cloven feet,

And hides his titled name;

And she knew she could not be, Love,
What once she might have been,

But she was kind to me, Love,

My pretty Josephine.

We did not part beneath the sky,

As warmer lovers part,

Where Night conccals the glistening eye, But not the throbbing heart;

We parted on the spot of ground

Where we first had laughed at love, And ever the jests were loud around,

And the lamps were bright above:

"The heaven is very dark, Love,

The blast is very keen,

But merrily rides my bark, Love-
Good night, my Josephine!"

She did not speak of ring or vow,
But filled the cup of wine,

And took the roses from her brow
To make a wreath for mine;

And bade me, when the gale should lift
My light skiff on the wave,

To think as little of the gift

As of the hand that gave:

"Go gaily o'er the sea, Love,

And find your own heart's queen ;

And look not back to me, Love,

Your humble Josephine !"

That garland breathes and blooms no more,

Past are those idle hours;

I would not, could I choose, restore

The fondness or the flowers;

Yet oft their withered witchery

Revives its wonted thrill,

Remembered-not with Passion's sigh,

But oh

remembered still :

And even from your side, Love,

And even from this scene,

One look is o'er the tide, Love,
One thought with Josephine!

Alas! your lips are rosier,

Your eyes of softer blue,

And I have never felt for her

As I have felt for you;

Our love was like the snow-flakes,

Which melt before you pass—

Or the bubble on the wine, which breaks

Before you lip the glass.

You saw these eye-lids wet, Love,

Which she has never seen;

But bid me not forget, Love,

My poor Josephine!

TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.

I HEARD a sick man's dying sigh,
And an infant's idle laughter,

The Old Year went with mourning by-
The New came dancing after !

Let Sorrow shed her lonely tear,

Let Revelry hold her ladle;

Bring boughs of cypress for the bier,

Fling roses on the cradle;

Mutes to wait on the funeral state ;
Pages to pour the wine;

A requiem for Twenty-Eight,

And a health to Twenty-Nine!

Alas for human happiness!

Alas for human sorrow!

Our yesterday is nothingness,

What else will be our morrow?

Still Beauty must be stealing hearts,

And Knavery stealing purses;

Still cooks must live by making tarts,

And wits by making verses;