I THINK ON THEE.

She went up to the tower, and straining out
To search the seas, downwards, and round about,
She saw, at last,-she saw her lord indeed

Floating, and wash'd about, like a vile weed ;-
On which such strength of passion and dismay
Seiz'd her, and such an impotence to stay,

That from the turret, like a stricken dove,

With fluttering arms she leap'd, and join'd her drowned love.

I THINK ON THEE.

Leigh Hunt.

I THINK on thee in the night,

When all beside is still,

And the moon comes out, with her pale sad light,

To sit on the lonely hill.

When the stars are all like dreams,

And the breezes all like sighs,

And there comes a voice from the far-off streams,

Like thy spirit's low replies!

I think on thee by day,

'Mid the cold and busy crowd,

When the laughter of the young and gay

Is far too glad and loud.

I hear thy soft sad tone,

And thy young sweet smile I see;
My heart, my heart, were all alone,

But for its dreams of thee!

I THINK ON THEE.

Of thee who wert so dear,-
And yet I do not weep,

For thine eyes were stained by many a tear

Before they went to sleep;

And if I haunt the past,

Yet may I not repine,

That thou hast won thy rest at last,

And all the grief is mine.

I think upon thy gain,
Whate'er to me it cost,

And fancy dwells with less of pain

On all that I have lost!

Hope, like the cuckoo's oft-told tale,

Alas! it wears her wing.

And Love, that, like the nightingale,
Sings only in the Spring!

Thou art my spirit's all,

Just as thou wert in youth,

Still from thy grave no shadows fall

Upon my lonely truth.

A taper yet above thy tomb

Since lost its sweeter rays,

And what is memory through the gloom

Was hope in brighter days.

I am pining for the home

Where sorrow sinks to sleep,

Where the weary and the weepers come,
And they cease to toil and weep;

They walk about with smiles,

That each should be a tear,

Vain as the Summer's glowing spoils,
Flung o'er an early bier.

WEARIE'S WELL.

That fold their colours of the sky,
When earthward they alight,
And flash their splendour on the eye,
Only to take their flight.

I never knew how dear thou wert,
Till thou wert borne away!
I have it yet about my heart,

Thy beauty of that day!

As if the robe thou wert to wear

Beyond the stars were given,

That I might learn to know it there,

And seek thee out in Heaven.

T. K. Hervey.

WEARIE'S WELL.

IN a saft simmer gloamin',

In yon dowie dell,

It was there we twa first met,
By Wearie's cauld well.

We sat on the broom bank,

And look'd in the burn,

But sidelang we look'd on
Ilk ither in turn.

The corncraik was chirming

His sad eerie cry,

And the wee stars were dreaming

Their path through the sky;