To stones trust not your monument
To make a living fame endure.
Who built Dun Angus battlement?
O'Flaherty is forgotten in Auchnanure.

And he who told how Troy was sacked
And what men clipt the lovely Burd,
Had seven Mayors to swear, in fact,
Their towns first heard his babbling word.

Far off I see, like a dim cloud, the hills,
Which, in my youth, I climbed with daring feet;
Whose memory still my mind with grandeur fills,
And pleasant thoughts of love and friendship sweet.
But nearer do the humble hill-tops rise,
On which my childhood loved to sit and stray;
Gazing on pastures wide, on sea and skies,
Lit by the sun's bright beams, or moon's soft ray.
And many a merry voice and sunny face
Of early playmates round my happy home
Come back to me, as the green paths I trace,
And craggy cliffs, 'mid which we loved to roam;

IMITATED

LIGHT falls the rain-drop on the fallen leaf,
And light o'er harvest-plain and garnered sheaf —
But lightlier falls the touch of loving hands.

Light falls the dusk of mild midsummer night,
And light the first star's faltering lance of light
On glimmering lawns, — but lightlier loving hands.

And light the feathery flake of early snows,
Or wisp of thistle-down that no wind blows,

AH! at last alone, love!
Now the band may play
Till its sweetest tone, love,
Swoons and dies away!
They who most will miss us
We're not caring for —
Who of them could kiss us
In the corridor?

Had we only known, dear,
Ere this long delay,
Just how all alone, dear,
We might waltz away,
Then for hours, like this, love,
We are longing for,
We'd have still to kiss, love,
In the corridor!

Nestle in my heart, love;
Hug and hold me close —
Time will come to part, love,
Ere a fellow knows;

I

To love thee brings me sadness, for I know
each time the time will never come again,—
that every moment brings the darker stain
of riper manhood. Liker as we grow,
Love stirs his wings, impatient to remain.

II

Each night of love from such a love doth part
thy forward-looking self. At each remove
from boyhood thou art further from my love,
though nearer to the knowledge of my heart.
Love joineth us the closer to dispart.

III

To G, her one and only rose,
Her A this bond of true love shows.
Ah, how can I endure the pain
Or patience to the utmost strain
Till you have come back home again?
Am I a stone that should not yearn,
Do you believe, for your return?
All day, all night, I'm anguish-tossed
Like one who foot and hand has lost.
Without you, all that joys my blood
Is little more than trampled mud.
Far from rejoicing, I shed tears
And never happiness appears.
When I recall how you caressed
So joyously, my little breast

To C —
her lover,
sweeter than honey or honeycomb,

B —
sends her loving.
Uniquely special,
Why do you delay
so long,
so far?
Why do you want your only one to die,
me,
your soul and body lover,
me,
your little starveling bird,
Sighing for you
every hour,
every second?
Without your honied presence
I want
to hear no one,
to see no one.
Like the turtle on its shrivelled branch
Forever mourning for its mate
I
too
endless
mourn
Until I have your love again.
I look

Each word of love a child doth speak,
It sows a flower, to bloom
Along its aged parent's path,
Descending to the tomb!

No more may blush the summer's rose
To glad their failing sight;
Nor to the ravished sense, as once,
Its fragrance give delight.

But every word of love they hear
Is treasured in the heart;
A bloom, a fragrance there to shed,
Which never can depart!

In the glad spring when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings!
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

Between the blossoms red and white,
O merrily the throstle sings!
My love first came into my sight,
O perfect vision of delight,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

The yellow apples glowed like fire.
O merrily the throstle sings!
O Love too great for lip or lyre,
Blown rose of love and of desire,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

'Tis said but a name is friendship,
Soulless, and shallow, and vain;
That the human heart ne'er beats in response,
Or echoes sweet sympathy's strain.

But to-day in " memory's mirror "
Came a dear and honored one,
Whom in days gone by had lived and had loved,
Ere her heavenly goal was won.

Her countenance beamed as of yore,
With radiant smiles of love,
And I felt that the friendship she lavished me here,
Had ripened in heaven above.

I felt that her voice so winsome,
Attuned to holier rhymes,