Though dim and far, and struggling through
A darker night than chaos knew—
One hope of winning thee!

Such sights and hopes to them I leave,
Who fancy's webs can, willing, weave,
To snare themselves withal;

"Tis mine to see with other's eyes,
And, if 'twere mine to deal the prize,

Thou know'st where it would fall!

But there's no cause why thou shouldst chide, And surely none why I should hide,

'Neath cautious words and cold,

The feelings kind, whose friendly glow
It would be strange thou shouldst not know,
Though it were left untold!

Of all the charms existence lends

Youth, beauty, wit, and love, and friendsThere's none thou dost not share;

Yet, though 'tis, thus, an idle thing

To add so poor an offering

As one sad sinner's prayer

I pray that, like the Prophet's palm,
Which vocal made each breeze of balm
O'er Eden's bow'rs that past,

Thy tree of life may, all day long,
Pour forth from every leaf a song,

Each sweeter than the last!

ΤΟ

I've been a dreamer all my days,

Yet ne'er a dream came trueAnd 'twould be strange if I could raise A dreamland sprite for you; You-through whose common, daylight air,

More gladsome visions sweep, Than other, luckiest mortals, dare To hope for-e'en in sleep!

Dream as you will then-brighter far
Your own pure thoughts, than all
The forms that round the midnight's car
A wizard's wand could call !

I only beg that, not too glad

Nor bright, your dreams may be ; For then the chance were very bad, That you should dream of me!

ΤΟ

Along a lonely walk I strayed

My thoughts far off, with doubtful things, When, o'er my path, I saw there played

"A gentle bird on azure wings!"

He bent him from the heights of air-
Stooped to the earth, as if to light—
Poised him before me-lingered there-
Then passed away-like all things bright!

I watched him, till I saw him fold
His wings, the distant corn among,
Where, from a stalk of bending gold,
I heard him lift his happy song.

I went my ways—I could but feel,
How often to my lot 'twas given,
To see, far from my pathway, wheel

The brightest messengers from Heaven!

And yet why should the bird to me

Bring down the hues that clothe the sky,
When o'er my path there bent no tree,
In whose green bosom he could lie?

When of the fields whose treasures lay,
Far o'er the glad and teeming plain,
Not mine one golden sheaf, to pay
The music of his gentle strain !

I could not blame him-yet I thought
"Twere sad he should have come, unless
His beauty and his song he'd brought,
My lonely wanderings to bless!

ΤΟ

I may not love thee! though the thought,
By honor's ban repressed,

Unbreathed to thee, to man, to Heaven,
Should moulder with my breast!
There is a faith that I should break,
If, from my slumbers I should wake
To bless a dream of thee;

And though to thee but common dust,
As pure as thou I'll keep that trust,
Betwixt my soul and me!

And yet 'tis hard thou shouldst not know

What better life were mine,

To worship, if but in my heart

The Deity in thine!

Ah! couldst thou feel what it has cost

To teach myself that thou art lost

Yet bless where thou art won,

Thou wouldst not love me-that is pastBut even thou wouldst mourn the cast

That left me thus undone !

FROM CALDERON.

Carlos. The morning's golden light had scarcely flung

A crown upon the sun's returning brow

When, unto her, from whom daylight had sprung,
Mine other sun, I lifted up my vow.

Scarce the night-shadows, tremulous, had hung
Their gloom o'er all things but my passion's glow,
When all my love, upon the garden-wold,

To the fair commonwealth of flowers I told.

The very silence of the evening chill,
The jasmine, in sweet mazes clustering,
The crystal fountain, bubbling at its will,
The brook, that to itself went murmuring,
The air, that on the blossoms breathed still,
And o'er the shrinking leaves leapt, wandering—
All-all was love! What if at such an hour,
There be a soul in fountain, bird, and flower!

Pasquin. There was an old and grave philosopher
Who dwelt unto himself. A soldier passed

His home one day, and paused to speak with him,
And, after long discourse, the warrior said,—
"Hast thou not seen the fall, then, of our king,
Whose laurels crown him Lord and Arbiter

Of empires most unbounded?" Quoth the sage,