Where none may smile, and none may weep,

None dream of bliss, or wake to wo. If e'er, as Fancy oft will feign,

To that dear spot which gave thee birth Thy fleeting shade returns again,

To look on him thou lov'dst on earth, It may a moment's joy impart,

To know that this, thy favorite tree, Is to my desolated heart

Almost as dear as thou could'st be.

My Florence!-soon-the thought is sweet!
The turf that wraps thee I shall press;
Again, my Florence! we shall meet,
In bliss-or in forgetfulness.
With thee in Death's oblivion laid,
I will not have the cypress gloom
To throw its sickly, sullen shade,

Over the stillness of my tomb:

And there the 'scutcheon shall not shine,
And there the banner shall not wave;
The treasures of the glittering mine
Would ill become a lover's grave:
But when from this abode of strife
My liberated shade shall roam,
Thy myrtle, that has cheer'd my life
Shall decorate my narrow home:
And it shall bloom in beauty there,
Like Florence in her early day;
Or, nipp'd by cold December's air,

Whither-like Hope and thee-away.

STANZAS.

O'ER yon Churchyard the storm may lower;
But, heedless of the wintry air,
One little bud shall linger there,
A still and trembling flower.

Unscathed by long revolving years,
Its tender leaves shall flourish yet,
And sparkle in the moonlight, wet
With the pale dew of tears.

And where thine humble ashes lie,
Instead of 'scutcheon or of stone,
It rises o'er thee, lonely one,
Child of obscurity !

Mild was thy voice as Zephyr's breath,

Thy cheek with flowing locks was shaded! But the voice hath died, the cheek hath faded In the cold breeze of death!

Brightly thine eye was smiling, Sweet!
But now Decay hath still'd its glancing;
Warmly thy little heart was dancing,
But it hath ceased to beat!

A few short months-and thou wert here! Hope sat upon thy youthful brow;

And what is thy memorial now? A flower-and a Tear.

CASSANDRA.

"THEY hurried to the feast,

The warrior and the priest,

And the gay maiden with her jeweled brow;
The minstrel's harp and voice

Said Triumph and rejoice!'

One only mourned !-many are mourning now!

"Peace! startle not the light

With the wild dreams of night;'—
So spake the Princes in their pride and joy,
When I in their dull ears

Shrieked forth my tale of tears,
'Wo to the gorgeous city, wo to Troy !'-

"Ye watch the dun smoke rise

Up to the lurid skies;

Ye see the red light flickering on the stream;

Ye listen to the fall

Of gate, and tower, and wall;

Sisters, the time is come!-alas, it is no dream!

"Through hall, and court, and porch,

Glides on the pitiless torch;

The swift avengers faint not in their toil:

Vain now the matron's sighs;

Vain now the infant's cries;

Look, sisters, look, who leads them to the spoil?

"Not Pyrrhus, though his hand

Is on his father's brand;

Not the fell framer of the accursed Steed;

Not Nestor's hoary head;

Nor Teucer's rapid tread;
Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomede.

"Visions of deeper fear

To-night are warring here;—

I know them, sisters, the mysterious Three;

Minerva's lightning frown,

And Juno's golden crown,

And him the mighty ruler of the sounding sea.

"Through wailing and through wo,

Silent and stern they go;

So have I ever seen them in my trance!

Exultingly they guide

Destruction's fiery tide,

And lift the dazzling shield, and poise the deadly lance.

"Lo! where the old man stands,

Folding his palsied hands,

And muttering with white lips, his querulous prayer: