Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see;

The tear that from thine eyelid streams,

Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;

Nor one memorial for a breast

Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write-to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak :
Oh! what can idle words avail,

Unless the heart could speak?

By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee.

BYRON.

Jamais nous ne verrions briller un jour serein,
Toujours par la douleur l'âme seroit flétrie,
Si l'amour ne venoit consoler notre vie,

Et semer quelques fleurs sur ce triste chemin.

THE ABSENT LOVER TO HIS
BETROTHED.

Summer was on the hills when last we parted,
Flowers in the vale, and beauty on the sky,

Our hearts were true, although our hopes were thwarted;

Forward, with wistful eye,

Scarce half-resign'd we look'd, yet thought how

sweet

'Twould be again in after months to meet.

And months have pass'd: now the bright moon is shining

O'er the grey mountains and the stilly sea, As, by the streamlet's willowy bend reclining, I pause, remembering thee,

Who to the moonlight lent a softer charm,

As through these wilds we wander'd arm in arm !

Yes! as we roam'd, the sylvan earth seem'd glowing
With many a beauty unremark'd before:

The soul was like a deep urn overflowing
With thoughts a treasur'd store;

The

very flowers seem'd born but to exhale,

As breathed the West, their fragrance to the gale.

Methinks I see thee yet-thy form of lightness,
An angel phantom gliding through the trees,
Thine alabaster brow, thy cheek of brightness,
Thy tresses in the breeze

Floating their auburn, and thine eyes that made,
So rich their blue, heaven's azure like a shade.

Methinks even yet I feel thy timid fingers,

With their bland pressure thrilling bliss to mine. Methinks yet on my cheek thy breathing lingers As, fondly leant to thine,

I told how life all pleasureless would be,
Green palm-tree of earth's desert, wanting thee.
Not yet, not yet, had disappointment shrouded

Youth's summer calms with storms of wintry strife;

The star of Hope shone o'er our path unclouded,
And Fancy colour'd life

With those elysian rainbow-hues, which Truth
Melts with his rod, when disenchanting youth.

Where art thou now? I look around, but see not
The features and the form that haunt my dreams!
Where art thou now? I listen, but for me not
The deep, rich music streams

Of that entrancing voice, which could bestow
A zest to pleasure, and a balm to woe:-

I miss thy smile, when morn's first light is bursting. Through the green branches of the casement tree; To list thy voice my lonely ear is thirsting,

Beside the moonlight sea:

Vain are my longings, my repinings vain;
Sleep only gives thee to my arms again.

Yet should it cheer me, that nor woe hath shatter'd The ties that link our hearts, nor Hate, nor

Wrath,

And soon the day may dawn, when shall be scatter'd All shadows from our path;

And visions be fulfill'd, by Hope adored,

In thee, the long-lost, to mine arms restored.
Ah! could I see thee! see thee, were it only

But for a moment looking bliss to me!

Ah! could I hear thee !

Is life deprived of thee :

desolate and lonely

I start from out my reverie, to know

That hills between us rise, and rivers flow!

Let Fortune change-be fickle Fate preparing
To shower her arrows, or to shed her balm,
All that I ask for, pray for, is the sharing

With thee life's storm or calm;

For, ah! with others Wealth and Mirth would be

Less sweet by far than Sorrow shared with thee !

Yes! vainly, foolishly, the vulgar reckon

That Happiness resides in outward shows : Contentment from the lowliest cot may beckon True Love to sweet repose:

For genuine bliss can ne'er be far apart,

When soul meets soul, and heart responds to heart.

Farewell! let tyrannous Time roll on, estranging
The eyes and heart from each familiar spot:
Be fickle friendships with the seasons changing,
So that thou changest not!

I would not that the love, which owes its birth
To heaven, should perish like the things of earth !—
Adieu! as falls the flooding moonlight round me,

Fall Heaven's best joys on thy beloved head!
May cares that harass, and may griefs that wound me,
Flee from thy path and bed!

Be every thought that stirs, and hour that flies,
Sweet as thy smile, and radiant as thine eyes!

DELTA.

THE REPROACH.

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?

I