TO ANNIE.*

I.

THY heart is like a blooming flower
That blossoms on its parent tree;
Young Hope illumes the future hour,
And all the past was joy to thee.
Then sing not thou of love betray'd,

Of present woe or bliss that's past
Thy peaceful sky, dear happy maid,
With no such clouds is overcast.

II.

Sing, if thou wilt, of early love,
It ever comes in youthful dreams;
But paint it gentle as the dove,

And true as to thy mind it seems.
Sing of the trusting one, who cheers
A heart as guileless and as true,
A song of smiles but not of tears,—

They were not meant for such as you.

* On hearing her sing a song, beginning with the words "My heart is like a faded flower."

III.

Smile on then, happy still and blest.
Oh! never may a sorrowing strain
Wake answering chords within thy breast,
Or echo back thy thoughts again!
Bright be thy dreams, but brighter still
Thy waking moments of delight!
May coming years sweet hopes fulfil,

And e'en in darkness breathe of light!

THOUGHTS AT STARLIGHT.

How wonderful the thought, that those bright orbs,
So thickly studded in yon firmament,

Are worlds like ours; that within them dwell
Beings contemplative, whose thoughts perhaps,
While thus we gaze on them, are turned to us.
This little world, that seems so very vast,
To some is but a speck that feebly shines
Amid the concourse of superior stars ;
Yet thoughtlessly sometimes, on starry nights,
We speak as tho' we deem'd that countless host
Had risen high in heaven's vast concave
Solely for us. And thoughts of earthly mould,
Suggested by the moon's pale radiancy,
Tender and sweet and harmless in themselves,
Rush o'er the bosom with a gentle thrill.

We gaze, alas! and all the while forget

The mighty hand that guides them at its will.

Forget, and yet in such a soothing time

Are we not influenced by better thoughts,
Tho' indirectly? Comes not from above
Some secret emanation, to subdue

The bitter thoughts that fetter down our minds,
And rust the purpose of our best resolves?

THE HOLLY BOUGH.

I.

OH! deck not the hall with the bright holly bough;
For I like not to look on its branches now,

Since the form of that loved one is silent and dead
Who last year help'd to mingle its berries of red.

II.

Nay, call me not sullen, because I refuse

To join in the sports that can others amuse.

They meet the same friends that they welcomed of yore, But tho' all are not strangers, my friend is no more.

III.

A circle is form'd round the sparkling fire,

To solve the enigma all gaily aspire;

But the voice that would answer with readiest skill,
Alas! in the grave is now silent and still.

IV.

They say 't is a time of rejoicing and glee,
And wonder at signs e'en of sorrow in me;
But, alas! 't is the sound of their gladness I feel,
Has re-opened the wound just beginning to heal.

V.

But tho' we who knew her thus bitterly sigh,
When we think on our meetings at seasons gone by,

We'll remember she's gone to a happier land,

And added one more to the heavenly band.

VI.

We'll not sadden the hearts of the

young

and the gay

In our thoughts of the one Death has taken away,
Nor regard for the loved and the living forego,
With a brow overclouded with sorrow and woe.

VII.

Oh! then brighten the hall with the evergreen bough, For pleasanter feelings come over us now;

Since the friends that we love are not all of them dead,

Let us mingle once more its bright berries of red.