Doth he shed o'er heart and brain
More of pleasure or of pain?

V.

Dreams there be of brain-sick passion,
Sentimental groan and sigh,
Heart-aches aped for very fashion,-

Of such whimsies ask not I:
Let them trouble fops and fools,
Reign supreme o'er boarding-schools.

VI.

But with fiercer pain and anguish
Love like thine must oft contend;
Oft the breaking heart must languish,
Till, with life, its sorrows end.
Well our Shakespeare spake, in sooth,
"True love's course did ne'er run smooth."

VII.

Mammon spreads his glittering treasures

To entrap parental eyes;

Laughs to scorn our purest pleasures,
Revels in our tears and sighs.
How should true love flourish here,
In this earth's chill atmosphere?

VIII.

Hard thy task, yet meet it, maiden,
With a true and steadfast will,
Though thy heart, with care o'erladen,
Faint beneath the burden still.

Through thy worst temptations prove
Firm in duty, firm in love.

IX.

Better 'twere to wither slowly
On the lonely virgin stalk,
Than, fast bound in ties unholy,
Through a desart world to walk,
Dragging still, with toil and pain,
Sordid Mammon's golden chain.

X.

Better far that maids should sprinkle Flowers upon thy virgin grave, When the star-beams faintly twinkle, And the moon is on the wave, Than thy brow with wreaths adorn For a loveless bridal morn.

XI.

Better go, a saint unspotted,

To thy glorious home above, Than, by this world's gauds besotted, Lose for ever life and love; Throned in empty state and show, Empress of a world of woe.

XII.

Yet, perchance, at length victorious
O'er this danger and distress,
We shall hail thy triumph glorious

With loud songs of happiness;

Lead thee home in bridal pomp,
With the sound of harp and trump;

XIII.

Come with shouting forth to meet thee,

Wife and husband, sire and son;

As our new-found sister greet thee,
Boldly woo'd and nobly won.
Meet rejoicings then shall be
In our festive family.

XIV.

Keep thy love, a guarded treasure,
In thine inmost heart laid by;
All its pain and all its pleasure
Shall thy spirit purify;

If thou rein wild fancy still
With a firm and temperate will.

XV.

Murmur not;-bethink thee rather, When these pangs thy patience try, That thou hast another Father

In thy home above the sky. When thine eyes with tears grow dim, Turn them patiently to Him.

XVI.

Welcome His consoling Spirit,
Then, whate'er thy mortal doom,
Doubt not that thou shalt inherit

Endless bliss beyond the tomb: Where, redeem'd from earthly thrall, Heavenly love is all in all.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

I.

THEY say that, since I wander'd last

Amidst

my childhood's haunts and bowers,

A spirit to the skies hath past

From these romantic vales of ours, For whom all gentle hearts make moan, Each feeling all the loss its own.

II.

And I, they say, must not withhold
A funeral chaplet from her bier;
For that her love was shared of old
By many to my memory dear;
And that, in youth, there fell on me
Some flashes of her brilliancy.

III.

They bid me think on days long past,
When first that gentle face I knew,
Whose lineaments are fading fast

In dark decay's sepulchral hue:

They tell me of her graceful form,
Where banquets now the hungry worm.

IV.

And they remind me of her voice,
And of her magic minstrel skill,
Whose magic made e'en grief rejoice-
But those rich notes are vocal still;

Blending their sweetness with the hymn
Of Heaven's melodious seraphim.

V.

They tell me that her heart was kind
And pure as hearts of angels be;
They tell me thought enrich'd her mind,-
And I believe them; though to me
What matters now its richest worth,
Since she's in Heaven, and I on earth?

VI.

They tell me that, in later years,

Her hopes were all with Christ in Heaven; That she had wash'd her heart in tears, And felt sweet peace for sins forgiven. I doubt them not; would God that I Could thus to Time's poor trifles die!

Her place in this world void for aye;
She rests among the saintly dead,
Asleep until the judgment day;
And they who loved her vainly long

For her sweet looks, and words, and song.

VIII.

They look and long; beside their hearth

They listen for her voice in vain; By day or night, in grief or mirth, They may not hear its tones again : With craving heart and aching eye They seek her still unconsciously.