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'Tis the hour-the time of meeting-
In one moment 'twill be past;
And last night he stood beside me→
Was that blessed time the last?
I could better bear my sorrow,

Could I live that parting o'er :
Or, I wish I had not told him

That I would not come once more!

Could that have been the night-wind
Moved the branches thus apart?
Did I hear a coming footstep,
Or the beating of my heart?
No- I hear him, I can see him,
And my weak resolves are vain:

I will fly, but to his bosom,
And to leave it not again!

THE SILENT LOVER.

PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams, The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; So, when affection yields discourse, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come, They that are rich in words must needs discover They are but poor in that which makes a lover.

Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart,
The merit of true passion,

With thinking that he feels no smart,
That sues for no compassion.

Since, if my plaints were not t' approve
The conquest of thy beauty;
It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t'exceed my duty.

For knowing that I sue to serve
A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve
A place in her affection.

I rather choose to want relief,

Than venture the revealing;
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.

Silence in love betrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty:
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart!
My love for secret passion;

He smarteth most who hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

SONG.

SHOULD all who throng, with gift and song,
And for my favour bend the knee,
Forsake the shrine they deem divine,
I would not stoop my soul to thee!
The lips, that breathe the burning vow,
By falsehood base unstained must be ;
The heart, to which mine own shall bow,
Must worship Honour more than me.

The monarch of a world wert thou,
And I a slave on bended knee,

Though tyrant chains my form might bow,
My soul should never stoop to thee!

Until its hour shall come, my heart
I will possess, serene and free;
Though snared to ruin by thine art,

'Twould sooner break than bend to thee!

SONG..

WHERE shall the lover rest,

Whom the Fates sever

From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high,.

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die,.

Under the willow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;

There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;

There, thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,

Never again to wake,

Never,.O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win a maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying.

Her wings shall the eagle flap

O'er the false hearted:

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it,—

Never, O never!

IF THOU HAST CRUSHED A FLOWER..

O cast thou not

Affection from thee! In this bitter world,

Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast;
Watch-guard it-suffer not a breath to dim
The bright gem's purity!

IF thou hast crushed a flower,
The root may not be blighted;
If thou hast quenched a lamp,
Once more it may be lighted:
But on thy harp or on thy lute,

The string which thou hast broken,.

Shall never in sweet sounds again

Give to thy touch a token!

If thou hast loosed a bird

Whose voice of song would cheer thee,

Still, still he may be won

From the skies to warble near thee:

But if upon the troubled sea

Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,

Hope not that wind or wave will bring
The treasure back when needed.

T

If thou hast bruised a vine,
The summer's breath is healing,
And its clusters yet may glow,

Through the leaves of their bloom revealing;
But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown

With a bright draught filled-oh! never
Shall earth give back that lavished wealth
To cool thy parched lips' fever.

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee;
And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee:
And like that strain of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scattered:
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shattered!

THE WIFE'S REMONSTRANCE.

Oн, why are you sad when all others are gay?
Is earth darker now than in life's early day?
Is the kind hand withdrawn that upheld us of yore,
Or the bright, laughing sunshine around us no more?
No earth is still smiling, and nature is clad

In all her old beauty-then why art thou sad?

True, some friends grow faithless, seem cold and estranged,
But others are left us whose love is unchanged-
Whose hearts, through all seasons of good and of ill,
Like the ivy around us cling faithfully still:

Let us cherish them deep in our hearts, and be glad,
For oh, with such blessings how can we be sad!

You say we are poor!-ah, I have not forgot
That to struggle with fortune is ofttimes our lot;
But think you that we are less happy than they
Who drag on 'mid splendour their wearisome day?
For their wealth would you barter the bliss we have had?
Oh, no! then what need have our hearts to be sad?

Why fear for the future ?-for nine years or more
We have managed to keep the gaunt wolf from our door;
And why, in the days yet to come, should our state,
Though humble, be marked by a gloomier fate?
Let us give God our thanks for the past, and be glad-
How much more need have others, than we, to be sad!

I know there are seasons when, strive as we will,
Presentiment whispers for ever of ill;

There are dark-boding visions of trouble and pain
That lurk in the heart till they madden the brain !
Woe, woe for that bosom ! it cannot be glad -
Oh God, shield us well from such cause to be sad!

Let us humbly hope on-and if dark be our way,
Remember that night is e'er followed by day;

Though tempests and whirlwinds may rage through the skies,
They will pass, and the sunbeams again meet our eyes:
Let our hearts and our brows, then, in sunshine be clad,
For God made us not to be gloomy and sad!

LADY LOVE, LADY LOVE, ROAM WITH ME.

OH lady, sweet lady, a while let us roam;

The songsters of heav'n are mute on the bough:
The honey-bee laden has fled to her home,
The glow-worm comes forth, it is evening now:
Then, lady love, lady love, roam with me;
Lady love, lady love, roam with me;
True to the bosom that's constant to thee,
Lady love, lady love, roam with me.

The sun long has sunk to its home in the west,
The stars one by one deck the beautiful sky,
The moonbeams are mirror'd on Ocean's calm breast,
And the murmuring zephyrs re-echoe my sigh:
Then lady love, lady love, roam with me,
Lady love, lady love, roam with me;
True to the bosom that's constant to thee,
Lady love, lady love, roam with me.

FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL.

"Fair Helen of Kirkonnel," as she is called in the Scottish Minstrelsy, throwing herself between her betrothed lover and a rival by whom his life was assailed, received a mortal wound, and died in the arms

of the former.

HOLD me upon thy faithful heart,

Keep back my flitting breath;

'Tis early, early to depart,

Belov'd-yet this is death.

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