Which tells me, Youth's no longer here !
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be, that Thou art gone !
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d:-
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that Thou art gone ?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve

When we are old :
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstayed his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.

A DAY DREAM. My eyes make pictures, when they are shut :

I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruined hut,

And thee, and me, and Mary there.

O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green

willow !

A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,

And that and summer well agree ; And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow; Our sister and our friend will both be here to

morrow.

'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright

The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night.

The balmiest of the month of June! A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet

fountain.

O ever-ever be thou blest!

For dearly, Asra, love I thee!
This brooding warmth across my breast,

This depth of tranquil bliss—ah me!
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall,

By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all !

And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee : I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel

thee!

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play

'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow ! But let me check this tender lay

Whith none may hear but she and thou ! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE

O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind !

As Eve's first star thro’ fleecy cloudlet peeping ; And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind, O'er willowy meads and shadowed waters creeping, And Ceres' golden fields :—the sultry hind Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping.

NAMES.

FROM LESSING.

I

ASKED my fair, one happy day,
What I should call her in my lay!
By what sweet name from Rome or Greece ;
Lalage, Neæra, Chloris,
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,

Arethusa, or Lucrece.

“ Ah!" replied my gentle fair,
“ Beloved, what are names but air ?

Choose thou whatever suits the line ;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage, or Doris,

Only, only call me Thine.”

DESIRE.

WH
THERE true Love burns, Desire is Love's pure

flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE.

HER attachment may differ from yours in degree,

Provided they are both of one kind; But friendship how tender soever it be

Gives no accord to Love, however refined.

Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature re

vealing, Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs : If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling,

You must lower down your state to hers.

NOT AT HOME.
THAT Jealousy may rule a mind

Where Love could never be
I know; but ne'er expect to find

Love without Jealousy.

She has a strange cast in her ee,

A swart sour-visaged maid-
But yet Love's own twin-sister she,

His house-mate and his shade.

Ask for her and she'll be denied :

What then ? they only mean
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,

And can't just then be seen.

TO A LADY,

OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT

WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS.

NAY, dearest Anna! why so grave ?

I said you had no soul, 'tis true! For what you are, you cannot have;

'Tis I, that have one since I first had you !

I HAVE heard of reasons manifold

Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold

His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.

AN INVOCATION.
FROM 66RE MORSE."

HE EAR, sweet spirit, hear the spell,

Lest a blacker charm compel ! So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell,