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All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, thee All my life's bliss is in the grave with

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

And even Despair was powerless to destroy;

Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,

Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion

Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten mine.

Down to that tomb already more than

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,

Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

How could I seek the empty world again?

MARIA GOWEN BROOKS.

[From Zophiel.]

SONG OF EGLA.

DAY, in melting purple dying;
Blossoms, all around me sighing;
Fragrance, from the lilies straying;
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing;
Ye but waken my distress;
I am sick of loneliness!

Thou, to whom I love to hearken,
Come, ere night around me darken;
Though thy softness but deceive me,
Say thou'rt true, and I'll believe thee;

Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent, Let me think it innocent! Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure; All I ask is friendship's pleasure;

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UPON the white sea sand There sat a pilgrim band, Telling the losses that their lives had known;

While evening waned away From breezy cliff and bay, And the strong tide went out with weary moan.

One spake, with quivering lip, Of a fair freighted ship, With all his household to the deep gone down;

But one had wilder woe

For a fair face, long ago [town. Lost in the darker depths of a great

There were who mourned their youth

With a most loving ruth, For its brave hopes and memories ever green;

And one upon the west
Turned an eye that would not
rest,

For far-off hills whereon its joy had been.

Some talked of vanished gold,
Some of proud honors told,

Some spake of friends that were their trust no more;

And one of a green grave
Beside a foreign wave,

That made him sit so lonely on the shore.

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Long since, we parted in our careless prime,

Like summer birds no June shall hasten hither;

No more to meet as in that merry time,

The sweet spring-time that shone on all together.

Some, to the fevered city's toil and grime,

And some o'er distant seas, and some- - ah! whither ? Nay, we shall never meet as in the time,

The dear old time when we were all together.

And some

Heads that I helped to lay

On the pillow that lasts for aye.
It is but a little way

To the dreary hill where they lie-
No bed but the cold, cold clay -
No roof but the stormy sky.

Cruel the thought and vain!
They've now nothing more to bear-
Done with sickness and pain,

Done with trouble and care —
But I hear the wind and the rain,

And still I think of them there.

Ah, couldst thou come to me,

Bird that I loved the best!
That I knew it was well with thee-
Wild and weary North-West!

- above their heads, in Wail in chimney and tree —
wind and rime,

Year after year, the grasses wave

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Leave the dead to their rest.

THE ADIEU.

SWEET Falsehoods, fare ye well!
That may not longer dwell

this fond heart, dear paramours of
Youth!

A cold, unloving bride

Is ever at my side

Yet who so pure, so beautiful as
Truth?

Long hath she sought my side,
And would not be denied,

Till, all perforce, she won my spirit
o'er-

And though her glances be

But hard and stern to me,

At every step I love her more and

more.

ALONE.

A SAD old house by the sea.
Were we happy, I and thou,
In the days that used to be?
There is nothing left me now

But to lie, and think of thee
With folded hands on my breast,
And list to the weary sea
Sobbing itself to rest.

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