There stood proud forms before his throne, But which could fill the place of one, That one beneath the wave? Before him passed the young and fair, But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; He saw the tourney's victor crowned, A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain, A voice of winds that would not sleep He never smiled again! Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace Of vows once fondly poured, And strangers took the kinsman's place At many a joyous board; Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Were left to heaven's bright rain, Fresh hopes were born for other years— Mrs Hemans. OH! THE LADY I ADMIRE. I. Oh! the Lady I admire is so beautiful and bright, And lovely as a fairy-queen within her bower of light, Her large black eyes are glancing like two orbs of purest fire, And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire. The ringlets clustering o'er her brow, are of an auburn dye, And radiant as the golden light that gilds the summer sky; Her voice has all the melody of an Æolian lyre, And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire. III. The beauty of her modest cheek outshines the rose's hue, Her brow is like the moonlight when 'tis loveliest to view, Her blooming lips my bosom fill with rapturous desire, And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire. IV. And oh her smile is sweeter than the sunshine on the sea, I'd give the world, were it mine, if she would smile on me ; I'll love her till the throb of life shall from my heart ex pire, Oh dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire. William Anderson. STANZAS ON A LADY. She was a thing of morn, with the soft calm Her radiant brow scarce wore a trace of care- Of hope and memory, all that's bright and fairWhere no rude breath of passion came to chase, Like winds from summer wave, its heaven from that sweet face. As one who looks on landscapes beautiful, Even as the heart grows stiller by the lull Oh! when with her through autumn fields I've strayed, Then came consumption with her languid moods, She came with hectic glow and wasted cheek, Pallid like the second bow, yet would she speak The words of hope e'en while she passed away, Amid the closing clouds, and faded ray by ray. She died i' the bud of being, in the spring, The time of flowers, and songs, and balmy air, But thus 'twas ever with the good and fair- Or time's hoar frost come down to blench the hair; The pangs that pass not by the wounds that never heal. 2 They laid her in the robes that wrap the dead, But only lulled in some Elysian dream; Like evening's rose-light when the summer day MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM. The curling waves, with awful roar, A little bark assailed, And pallid fear's distracting power O'er all on board prevailed: Save one, the Captain's darling child, And cheerful, with composure, smiled |