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'Twas but a day-but then that day 'Twas fond pretence ! to us in vain, Was lit by June's long jocund ray; Far Ormond spread its broad domain, When bright and happy She and I, And lured our gaze with sparkling On soaring Comrah's summit high,
flood, Strayed from the throng 'mid heather And castled cliff and giant wood. flowers,
Vainly the distant Barrow rolled Where Fête-champêtre sped the hours, His course, a coil of slender gold, And sought that mountain's mightiest Or Nore's blue waters danced and height
played From whence, we said, our ardent Round Woodstock's banks and beecheyes
en glade. Might best drink in the green delight Ah, there no more the wild harp swells
That in that matchless landscape lies, That shook those violet-breathing dells,
* * These verses, written about his sixteenth year, have been sent us by our old friend, a late Physician, who informs us that they have not hitherto appeared in print. How could he doubt whether we would "oblige him by inserting them ? " C. N.
And shed a deathless spell along Was blushing cheek, and bended eye, Each grove's sweet gloom in Psyche's And heath-flower plucked all hastily, song!
Which well, she said, might emblem be In vain Barnane, the thunder-riven, Of fickle Bard's inconstancy, Far northward cleft the summer A truant tribe and light of faith, heaven,
Whose very life's essential bloom Or on the horizon stretched away, Was fed by woman's fragrant breath, A streak of light, slept Youghal bay. It mattered not of whom ; Wegazed but once, and gazing turned, And much she feared the freshening Filled with the love that round us gale burned,
Would hardly rustle in the sail And spoke as speechless glances speak Which bears her hence when I, who The thoughts that kindle lip and cheek; now And that bright lady fair, with face Low at her feet devoted bow, All pale, and darkly-glancing grace, Would, in the self-same spot so dear, Cast to the gladdened earth her eyes, Pour the same tale to other ear.
And, faltering, took the purple seat Boon Nature to her child supplies,
IV. Whilst I sat duteous at her feet. Fast died the day-on Galty Peak
Fair Evening leant her rosy cheek, III.
And up that sky of bluest June We never met before, and knew Wheeled from the Deep the solemn
We never more should meet again'; moon, For seaward at that moment blew When gay companions thronging The breeze should bear her o'er the round main,
Proclaimed the fugitives were found, O'er half hoarse Ocean's sounding And festive mirth rushed in between, foam,
And all was as it ne'er had been. To light with love another's home, - We met no more-that revel past, And be to me, through years afar, Our first sweet meeting was the last. Lone memory's deeply mirrored star. And yet we talked not sadly there, But wished our barks of life had And years have gone—and Time has been
stolen Together wafted earlier, ere
Hope from the heart, light from the Dark Fate had heaved its gulf be eyetween.
And feelings then, all passion-swollen, And still I asked, in trembling tone, Now shrunk to arid darkness lie. Of him who claimed her as his own, And that long-lost regretted one And of those gorgeous Western skies, Is-Angel of the Rainbow-gone, Whose glory lingered in her eyes. And treads her path of woman's pain And when she murmured 'twas her In isles beyond the Western main.
How little deems the stranger who, In that far land, at fall of day, Amid the Carib's sparkling sea, Lulled by cool breeze and tinkling font, That pale and graceful One may view,
To sleep the sultry eve away, Shrined in her home tranquillity, I vowed, if minstrel spirit might That she who there so sheltered dwells
Spring from its earthly fetters free, In warm Bermuda's musky dells, That ever at that hour my sprite Once braved the breezes of the North,
Should in her bower attendant be, And, from their wild hills looking forth, And whisper mid the odours shed Had loitered through the summer day) By gathered roses round her head, With mountain-bard as wild as they > Or mix my memory with the wail In utmost Thulé far away. Of song from neighbouring nightin.
gale, Or babbling in the waters' fall, And still that dreaming Bard will think To her hushed ear my name recall. That, haply, on the silver brink And that sweet listener's sole reply Of that clear sea, at vesper hour,
* This beautiful spot was occasionally the residence of Mrs H. Tighe, the Author of Psyche,
When memory most exerts its power, How minutes stamp the strife of The lone fair muser there will raise
yearsAt times her melancholy gaze
How passion's gusts, the soul which To the dim West, and while its star
stir, Trembles, like lover's heart, afar, Leave to that ruffled worshipper Will ask if he, who at her side
Of all its stormy joy but tears. Sat, eager-browed and restless-eyed, One blessed day, now feels with her
BY R. M. MILNES,
O! MOURNFUL sequence of self-drunken days,
Look on me well, and early steep thy soul
Across the desert, 'mid thy thirsty kind,
I had a home, wherein the weariest feet
I had a home to make the gloomiest heart
They owned their passion without shame or fear,
Said, they should sorrow for their wilfulness.
And truth the world went ill with them ;-he knew
What her unpractised weakness was to her
They asked their kind for hope, but there was none,
She had left all on earth for him, She watched the crimson sun's decline, Her home of wealth, her name of From some lone rock that fronts the pride,
sea,And now his lamp of love was dim, “I would, O burning heart of mine! And, sad to tell, she had not died. There were an ocean-rest for thee.
« The thoughtful moon awaits her turn,
THE TRAGEDY OF THE LAC DE GAUBE IN THE PYRENEES.
BY R. M. MILNES.
The marriage blessing on their brows, He, tranced in joy, the oar laid down, Across the Channel seas
And rose in careless pride, And lands of gay Garonne, they reach And swayed in cadence to the song The pleasant Pyrenees :
The boat from side to side : He into boyhood born again,
Then clasping hand in loving hand, A child of joy and life,
They danced a childish round, And she, a happy English girl, And felt as safe in that mid-lake A happier English wife.
As on the firmest ground.
8. They loiter not where Argelés, One poise too much !—He headlong The chestnut-crested plain,
fell, Unfolds its robe of green and gold She, stretching out to save In pasture grape and grain;
A feeble arm, was borne adown But on and up, where Nature's heart Within that glittering grave:Beats strong amid the hills,
One moment, and the gush went forth They pause, contented with the Of music-mingled laughter, .: wealth
Thestrugglingsplash and deathly shriek That either bosom fills.
Were there the instant after. 3.
9. There is a lake, a small round lake, Her weaker head above the flood, High on the mountain's breast,
That quick engulfed the strong, The child of rains and melted snows, Like some enchanted water-flower, The torrent's summer rest,
Waved pitifully long :--
But never one to aid.
The freshly-spoken vow,
Should not be sundered now,-
Love's most unnatural doom,
The unavoided tomb !
11. " See, dearest, this primæval boat, But weep, ye very Rocks, for those, So quaint, and rough, I deem
Who, on their native shore,
That sball arrive no more;
Few words are all the need ;
And then the funeral of the heart, In college days of old.
The course of useless speed ! 6.
12. • The clumsy oar! the laggard boat! The presence of the cold dead wood, How slow we move along,
The single mark and sign
The handiwork divine !
That in the depth would linger, That the long-silent cliffs were glad And late success-Oh! leave the ring To peal it back again.
Upon that faithful finger.