Thinking of eyes that gaze upon them here:
And there's a constant heart beyond, that beats
With a fond expectation, and doth count
Days, hours, nay minutes, as they creep away,
Pensively chiding the slow-footed time.

With a long sigh, from my sweet dream I start, And lo! beneath me smokes the sheltered cot, The rose-clasped porch of hospitality:

Where Friendship pillows his tired kinsman's head, And gentle Beauty smiles a welcome home.

SONNET.

FROM PETRARCH.

WEEPING for all my long lost years, I go,

And for that love which to this world confined
A spirit whose strong flight, for heaven designed,
No mean example might one man bestow.

Thou, who didst view my wanderings and my woe,
Great King of heaven! unseen, immortal mind!
Succour this weary being, frail and blind;

And may thy grace o'er all my failings flow!
Then, though my life through warring tempests passed,
My death may tranquilly and slowly come;

And my calm soul may flee in peace at last:

While o'er that space which shuts me from the tomb,

And on my death-bed, be thy blessing cast

From Thee, in trembling hope, I wait my doom.

MARY DE V.

CANZONET.

Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day,

Silence bestows such virtue on it.

Shakspeare.

I.

LOVE dwells not in the sparkling blaze,
When noon rests on the stream;

His tender flowerets dare not raise
Their bosoms to the beam:

When gleams the moon through latticed bowers,
And stars are shining bright,

He communes with the shadowy hours,

And wooes the silent night.

II.

The dreamy perfume of the rose,
The violet's deeper sigh,

The music of the rill, that flows

In liquid cadence by;

The sweet tones of some village chime

On sweeter echoes borne,

These, these are joys of evening time,

Which scarcely wait the morn!

III.

Not in the rich and courtly hall
The heart's pure faith is given;
But where the green-wood shadows fall
Beneath a twilight heaven.

Life's crowded pomp and pageant show

May darker passions move,

But solitude alone can know

The incense thoughts of love.

IV.

When worldly cares are hushed in sleep,
Love wakes at such an hour,

Young hopes their angel vigils keep,
And joy resumes its power:
Though night, in all its dusky state,
Athwart the skies be thrown;
Yet Beauty's glance can then create

A noontide all her own!

S.

THE LOST SPIRIT.

No man cared for my soul.

Psalm cxlii.

WEEP, Sire, with shame and ruing;
Weep for thy child's undoing!
For the days when I was young,
And no prayer was taught my tongue,
Nor the record from on high,

Of the life that cannot die.

Wiles of the world and men,

Of their three-score years and ten;

Earthly profit, human praise,
Thou didst set before my gaze,
As the guiding stars of life;
As the meed of toil and strife:

I ran the world's race well,
And find my guerdon - Hell!

Weep, mother, weep! yet know
"T will not shorten endless woe;
Prayers will not unbind my chain,
Nor repentance soften pain,

Nor the life-blood of thy frame,
For one moment quench this flame.

Weep not beside my tomb,
'Tis a gentle, painless gloom;
Let the worm and darkness prey
On my senseless, slumbering clay;
Weep for the priceless gem

That may not hide with them ;-
Weep the Lost Spirit's fate,
Yet know thy tears too late,-

Had they sooner fallen-well;
I had not wept in Hell!

Physician-canst thou weep?

Then let tears thy pillow steep!

Couldst thou view Time's heaving wave,

Doomed to 'whelm me in its grave,-
Life's last and lessening space,
My soul's brief hour of grace;
Yet with gay, unfaltering tongue,
Promise health and sojourn long
On the brink of that profound,
Without measure, depth or bound;
View me, busied with the toys,
Of a world of shadowy joys?

-Oh! had look, or sign, or breath,

Then whispered aught of death,