That dwelt in every silver tone
She drew from each sweet string:
Oh! no,-the songs she made her own
I will not hear them sing!

The songs she sung-the songs she sung!
How few and faint the words

Of praise that fell whene'er she flung
Her fingers o'er the chords;
No plaudit followed when the strain
Died on the quivering air,

But tears were gushing forth like rain,
And lips were quivering there!

The songs she sung-the songs she sung!
Long, grieving years are fled,

Earth's yearnings from the heart are flung,
Earth's hopes are with the dead;
And worldly wrongs-forgot-forgiven-
Sleep in Death's second birth;
But I would only hear in Heaven
The songs she gave to earth!

66

BECAUSE!

"Why? Because."-LINDLEY MURRAY.

SWEET Nea!-for your lovely sake

I weave these rambling numbers, Because I've lain an hour awake, And can't compose my slumbers; Because your beauty's gentle light Is round my pillow beaming,

And flings, I know not why, to-night, Some witchery o'er my dreaming!

Because we've passed some joyous days, And danced some merry dances; Because you love old Beaumont's plays, And old Froissart's romances ! Because, whene'er I hear your words, Some pleasant feeling lingers; Because I think your heart has chords That vibrate to my fingers!

Because you've got those long, soft curls
I've sworn should deck my goddess;
Because you're not, like other girls,
All bustle, blush, and bodice!
Because your eyes are deep and blue,
Your fingers long and rosy ;

Because a little child and you

Would make one's home so cosy !

Because your little tiny nose

Turns up so pert and funny;

Because I know you choose your beaux More for their mirth than money;

Because I think you'd rather twirl

A waltz, with me to guide you, Than talk small nonsense with an Earl, And a coronet beside you!

Because you don't object to walk,
And are not given to fainting;
Because you have not learned to talk
Of flowers and Poonah-painting;

Because I think you'd scarce refuse
To sew one on a button;

Because I know you'd sometimes choose
To dine on simple mutton!

Because I think I'm just so weak
As, some of those fine morrows,
To ask you if you'll let me speak
My story-and my sorrows:
Because the rest's a simple thing,
A matter quickly over,

A church-a priest-a sigh-a ring—
And a chaise-and-four for Dover!

SONG TO A SERENADER IN FEBRUARY. AIR-"Why hast thou taught me to love thee?"

DEAR minstrel, the dangers are not to be told Of those strains which have trebly undone me,

A victim to pity, to love, and to cold,

I'll be dead by the time thou hast won me!

Oh! think for a moment-whoever thou art,
On the woes that beset me together,-
If thou wilt not consider the state of my heart,
Oh! think of the state of the weather.

How keenly around me the night breezes blow,— How sweetly thy parting note lingers,

-

Ah! would that the glow of my heart could bestow A share of its warmth to-my fingers!

But though she who would watch while the nightingales sing

Should scorn to let cold overcome her,— Though, like other sweet birds, you begin in the Spring,

I can't fall in love till the Summer.

THE CHILDE'S DESTINY.

"And none did love him—not his lemans dear."

No mistress of the hidden skill,
No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill
To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vine-encircled France
Bestowed upon his brow and hand
Her philosophic glance:

(6 I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;

No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine !

-BYRON.

"And trust me, 'tis not that thy cheek

Is colourless and cold;

Nor that thine eye is slow to speak
What only eyes have told;
And many a cheek of paler white
Hath blushed with passion's kiss,
And many an eye of lesser light
Hath caught its fire from bliss;

Yet while the rivers seek the sea,
And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee,—
No woman's heart be thine !

"And 'tis not that thy spirit, awed
By Beauty's numbing spell,

Shrinks from the force or from the fraud
Which Beauty loves so well;

For thou hast learned to watch, and wake,
And swear by earth and sky;

And thou art very bold to take
What we must still deny :

I cannot tell ;-the charm was wrought
By other threads than mine!

The lips are lightly begged or bought,-
The heart may not be thine!

"Yet thine the brightest smiles shall be
That ever Beauty wore;

And confidence from two or three,
And compliments from more;

And one shall give-perchance hath given-
What only is not love,-

Friendship,-oh! such as saints in heaven

Rain on us from above:

If she shall meet thee in the bower,

Or name thee in the shrine,

O wear the ring and guard the flower!
Her heart may not be thine!

"Go, set thy boat before the blast,
Thy breast before the gun;
The haven shall be reached at last,
The battle shall be won: