That when fast-gathering storms prevail,
And sorrow dims the tearful eye;
And those we once deem'd faithful, fly
Before the changing gale,
Those vows might not be given in vain;
That summer-hours of cloudless joy,-
That years of sickness, grief and pain,
Might ne'er that silver link destroy.
And oh! in man's most dreary hour,
Has woman's voice the magic power
That tames the aching heart, and glads the aching sight,
And gilds with brighter beam the deep'ning night.
I NEVER knew how dear thou wert,
Till I was on the silent sea;
And then my lone and musing heart
Sent back its passionate thoughts to thee.
When the wind slept on ocean's breast,
And the moon smiled above the deep,
I longed thus o'er my spirit's rest
A vigil like yon moon to keep.
When the gales rose, and, tempest-tossed,
Our struggling ship was sore beset,
Our top-sails rent, our bearing lost,
And fear in every spirit met-
Oh! then amid the midnight storm,
Peace on my soul thy memory shed:
The floating image of thy form
Made strong my heart amid its dread.
Yes! on the dark and troubled sea,
I strove my spirit's depth to know,
And found its deep, deep love for thee,
Fathomless as the gulfs below.
The waters bore me on my way
Yet, oh! more swift than rushing streams,
To thee flew back, from day to day,
My clinging love-my dreams.
LOVE is a gift which God hath given
To man alone beneath the heaven.
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind.
WHEN from our northern woods pale summer, flying Breathes her last fragrant sigh-her low farewell— While her sad wild flowers' dewy eyes, in dying, Plead for her stay, in every nook and dell.
A heart, that loved too tenderly and truly,
Will break at last-and in some dim, sweet shade,
They'll smooth the sod o'er her you prized unduly,
And leave her to the rest for which she prayed.
Ah! trustfully, not mournfully, they'll leave her,
Assured that deep repose is welcomed well;
The pure, glad breeze can whisper naught to grieve her,
The brook's low voice no wrongful tale can tell.
They'll hide her where no false one's footstep, stealing,
Can mar the chastened meekness of her sleep;
Only to Love and Grief her grave revealing,
And they will hush their chiding then-to weep!
And some-for too oft she erred, too blindly,
She was beloved, how fondly and how well!—
Some few, with faltering feet, will linger kindly,
And plant dear flowers within that silent dell.
I know whose fragile hand will bring the bloom
Best loved by both-the violet-to that bower;
And one will bid white lilies bless the gloom;
And one, perchance, will plant the passion-flower!
Then do thou come, when all the rest have parted-
Thou, who alone dost know her soul's deep gloom,
And wreathe above the lost, the broken-hearted,
Some idle weed-that knew not how to bloom.
A. SEPTEMBER EVENING ON THE BANKS OF THE MOSHASSUCK.
"Now to the sessions of sweet, silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past."
AGAIN September's golden day
Serenely still, intensely bright,
Fades on the umbered hills away
And melts into the coming night.
Again Moshassuck's silver tide
Reflects each green herb on its side,
Kech tasselled wreath and tangling vine,
Whose tendrils o'er its margin twine.
And standing on its velvet shore
Where yesternight with thee I stood,
I trace its devious course once more
Far winding on through vale and wood..
Now glimmering through yon golden mist,
By the last glinting sunbeams kissed,
Now lost where lengthening shadows fall
From hazel copse and moss-fringed wall.
Near where yon rocks the stream inurn
The lonely gentian blossoms still,
Still wave the star-flower and the fern
O'er the soft outline of the hill;
While far aloft where pine trees throw
Their shade athwart the sunset glow,.
Thin vapours cloud the illumined air,
And parting daylight lingers there..
But ah, no longer thou art near
This varied loveliness to see,
And I, though fondly lingering here,
To-night can only think of thee-
The flowers thy gentle hand caressed
Still lie unwithered on my breast,
And still thy footsteps print the shore
Where thou and I may rove no more.
Again I hear the murmuring fall
Of water from some distant dell,
The beetle's hum, the cricket's call,
And, far away, that evening bell-
Again, again, those sounds I hear,
But oh, how desolate and drear
They seem to-night-how like a knell
The music of that evening bell.
Again the new moon in the west,
Scarce seen upon yon golden sky,
Hangs o'er the mountain's purple orest
With one pale planet trembling nigh,
And beautiful her pearly, light
As when we blessed its beams last night,.
But thou art on the far blue sea,
And I can only think of thee.
YOU ASK ME TO. FORGET HER.
You ask me to forget her,
To mix in fashion's throng,
I might if did not feeling
Unto this heart belong;-
I might, had I but sought her
Dull hours to wipe away,
I might, if true affection
Existed to decay.
But since the heart's pure feelings,
Are destin'd to endure!
How vain to say, "Forget her,"
And "rove," to Peace restore.
When once within the bosom,
True love has rear'd a throne,
Nor time, nor change can move it,.
Eternity its own.
THE FAITH OF LOVE.
THOU hast watch'd beside the bed of death,,
O fearless human love!
Thy lip received the last faint breath,
Ere the spirit fled above.
Thy prayer was heard by the parting bier,
In a low and farewell tone,
Thou hast given the grave both flower and tear,
-O Love! thy task is done..
Then turn thee from each pleasant spt,
Where thou were wont to rove:
For there the friend of thy soul is not,
Nor the joy of thy youth, O Love!
Thou wilt meet but mournful Memory there,
Her dreams in the grove she weaves,
With echoes filling the summer air,
With sighs and trembling leaves.
Then turn thee to the world again,
From those dim haunted bowers,
And shut thine ear to the wild sweet strain
That tells of vanish'd hours.
And wear not on thine aching heart
The image of the dead,
For the tie is rent that gave thee part
In the gladness its beauty shed:
And gaze on the pictured smile no more
That thus can life outlast,
All between parted souls is o'er;
-Love! Love! forget the past!
"Voice of vain boding! away, be still!
Strive not against the faith
That yet my bosom with light can fill,
Unquench'd and undimm'd by death:
"From the pictured smile I will not turn,
Though sadly now it shine;
Nor quit the shades that in whispers moura
For the step once link'd with mine:
"Nor shut mine ear to the song of old,
Though its notes the pangs renew,
-Such memories deep in my heart I hold,
To keep it pure and true.
"By the holy instinct of my heart,
By the hope that bears me on,
I have still my own undying part
In the deep affection gone.
"By the presence that about me seems
Through night and day to dwell,
Voice of vain bodings and fearful dreams!
-I have breathed no last farewell!"
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