" HE loved me once! " What words are these —
" He loved! "
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream, —
All things that were and are not, — how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam.
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.

How dear that was which lies here stark and dead
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,

ON FINDING HIS ADDRESSES NOT FAVOURED BY HER FRIENDS, ON
ACCOUNT OF HIS WANT OF FORTUNE .

Forbear , in pity, ah! forbear
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
'Tis death for me to hear.

Too much, alas! my tender heart
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art,
What is already thine?

O! let not, like the Grecian dame,
My hapless fortune prove,

FROM COUNTRY TO TOWN.

I LEFT the land where men with nature dwelling,
Know not how much they love her lovely forms —
Nor heed the history of forgotten storms,
On the blank folds inscribed of drear Helvellyn;
I sought the town, where toiling, buying, selling —
Getting and spending, poising hope and fear,
Make but one season of the live-long year —
Now for the brook from moss-girt fountain welling,
I see the foul stream hot with sleepless trade,
For the slow creeping vapours of the morn,

Dear Lord, on this Thy servant's day,
Who left for Thee the gold and mart,
Who heard Thee whisper, " Come away, "
And follow'd with a single heart,

Give us, amiDearth's weary moil,
And wealth for which men cark and care,
'Mid fortune's pride, and need's wild toil,
And broken hearts in purple rare,

Give us Thy grace to rise above
The glare of this world's smelting fires;
Let God's great love put out the love
Of gold, and gain, and low desires.

Still, like a breath from scented lime
Borne into rooms where sick men faint,

Evening winds are breathing,
Through the forest green;
Crimson clouds are wreathing,
In the sky, serene.

Trees, so tall and branching,
Relics of the past,
In the soft breeze waving,
Roaring in the blast,

Bloom in future ages,
Bloom in Freedom's light;
Though the tempest rages,
Stand in all your might.

Native land, so lovely,
Bright thy beauties are;
Long may noon beam o'er thee,
Let thy night be far.

On thy rising glories,
Let the clear light glow,
Clearer than the mid-day,

When Jesus came to earth of old,
He came in weakness and in woe;
He wore no form of angel mould,
But took our nature poor and low.

But when He cometh back once more,
Then shall be set the great white Throne;
And earth and heaven shall flee before
The face of Him that sits thereon.

O Son of God, in glory crown'd,
The Judge ordain'd of quick and dead;
O Son of Man, so pitying found
For all the tears Thy people shed;

Be with us in this darken'd place,
This weary, restless, dangerous night;

Palimpsest heart, on which so many names
Love's hand has writ! Blind Love, could he not know
Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego
To lend his torch to kindle transient flames?
New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims;
Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow;
Each day is bright until its sun is low;
As of fair days, so is it of fair dames.

Why should we chide the glad who find life sweet?
Their careless hearts are like a favored year,
All blessed summer; or a garden ground
To which no frosts come, where no tempests beat,

AN ALLEGORY,

The night was calm, the sky serene,
The sea a mirror display'd,
On its bosom the twinkling stars were seen,
The moon-crested waves were dancing between,
And smiling through evening's shade.

On that placid sea Pleasure's bark was riding,
Love and Joy were its guides through the deep,
And their hearts beat high, while on fortune confiding,
They smil'd at the forms that were gloomily striding,
O'er the brow of the wave-wash'd steep.

Those forms were Malice, and Scorn, and Hate,

Thy love inspires the Story Teller's tongue.
To tales of hearts with disappointment wrung,
Thy love inspires; — fresh flows the copious stream,
And what's not true, let fruitful fancy dream.

I

HER greeting is a dulcet bell —
Love's daybreak and delight;
Her smile is noon, and her farewell
Leads in the stars at night.
She is the sunrise and the gleam
Of dew upon the rose,
The vision that evokes the dream,
The song in slumber's prose.

II

Roses are the rhymes I wreathe —
Take them, every one;
Love — the fragrance that you breathe,
And your smile their sun.
When the petals fall apart,
Then in melody,
You shall read a rose's heart,
And the heart of me.