There was no glance from thee that threw

A single beam upon my way;

No word from whose sweet tone I drew
Just presage of a happier day;

Yet 'twas thy gift, and cold and few
As were to me hope's fitful gleams,
At thought of thee bursts forth anew
The radiance of my brightest dreams!

I kept the flower, 'tis faded now,
And, fading like it, droop and fall,
As blossoms from a blasted bough,
My future's trust, my dreams, my all!

These withered leaves-there is no spell
Their beauty's blush can e'er restore,—
Sweet lady, pardon! thou canst tell,

If hope for me shall bloom no more!

TO

More dark than winter's darkest cloud,
Compared with purity like thine,

The sin whose daily shadows shroud

Poor, tempted, toilsome lives like mine!

Though in my better moments rise Thoughts, feelings, hopes of holier aim, Too oft-like meteors from the skiesThey flash, fall, vanish as they came!

Dear lady, then, in happy time,

Was that sweet promise breathed by thee: That with thy vows a prayer should climb And ask a boon from Heav'n for me.

'Tis said that when His Angels sue, The Merciful bends down His ear:

Sweet lady, if the tale be true,

What blessings wait upon thy prayer!

ΤΟ

'Twas ill enough the pang to know
Of absence, distance, hope repress'd,
Before a doubt had come to throw

New shadows o'er my clouded breast.

I felt that Time, too swift till then,
Must linger long on laggard wing,
Ere thy sweet smile could beam again
Upon me in the gladsome spring.

And, knowing that earth's hopes must wait
Upon a will they cannot bend,

I trembled at the thought that Fate
That happy hour might never send.

Yet I was blest that, come what might, No absence, distance, change, delay, Could dim the faith that, pure and bright, Lit up thy heart with perfect day.

And though there came not to mine ear
The music of thy gentle voice,
Kind words might make the distant near,
And I might read them and rejoice.

It is not thus-not thus, that now

I count bright things as yet in store; Not thus recall each happy vow

Our eager lips breathed o'er and o'er.

Think not that I repent my trust,

As rashly flung upon thy youth, For I will hold all faith as dust,

Ere I will doubt me of thy truth.

But, pure and gentle as thou art,

Believing all things what they seem, Wilt thou not wound thine own kind heart,

Ere thou wilt break another's dream?

Forbid to know how fondly dwells
Each heavy thought of mine on thee;
To speed me here one thought that swells
Thy soul, or dims thine eye for me;

And taught, perhaps, that, all unkind, Some word, in pain or weakness spoken, Shows feelings harsh and unrefined,

Rude vows, as rudely to be broken.

Ah, tell me feeling, knowing this—
Can I forget we are of clay?
Or weakly deem my promised bliss
Will surely dawn, because it may ?

Then blame me not if each sad hour
Chase but a sadder brother on-
If spirits, joyous once, have power
To wake no more sweet fancies gone.

Thou know'st that thou and only thou
Canst win back gladness to my side;
Can I remind thee of no vow

To cherish me, whate'er betide?

TO

Sweet lady! not in jest I said

That, all too bright to linger long,

With youth's swift hours from me had fled My little gift of joyous song.

'Tis true 'twere folly, yet, for me To talk of weariness and woe, And feign to feel the vanity

And emptiness of things below.

But yet-look upward as we may—
The dust of toil and travel flings

A cloud upon the brightest day
That ever rose on purple wings.

And so the green earth wears not now
The freshness that "lang syne" I knew;

The very beams that o'er it glow,

Have robbed it of its diamond dew.

And well-nigh spent, with me, the spell That wins from life one-half its sorrow, The heart which, if to-day goes well, Beats careless of the dim to-morrow!

Yet, lady! when I look on thee,

A brighter hue bright mem'ries wear— Thoughts, strangers long, come back to me, And dreams, not baseless, throng the air.