And would not fear, at my coming then,
Hush every voice in the homes of men?
Would not bright eyes in my presence quail ?
Young cheeks with a nameless thrill turn pale ?
No gift be mine that aside would turn
The human love for whose founts I yearn!

Wouldst thou then read through the hearts of those
Upon whose faith thou hast sought repose?
Wear this rich gem! it is charmed to show
When a change comes over affection's glow.
Look on its flushing or fading hue,
And learn if the trusted be false or true!

Keep, keep the gem, that I still may trust,
Though my heart's wealth be but poured on dust!
Let not a doubt in my soul have place,
To dim the light of a loved one's face;
Leave to the earth its warm sunny smile-
That glory would pass could I look on guile!

Say then what boon of my power shall be
Favoured of spirits! poured forth on thee?
Thou scornest the treasures of wave and mine,
Thou wilt not drink of the cup divine,
Thou art fain with a mortal's lot to rest-
Answer me! how may I grace it best?

Oh! give me no sway o'er the powers unseen,
But a human heart where my own may lean!
A friend, one tender and faithful friend,
Whose thoughts' free current with mine may blend,
And leaving not either on earth alone,
Bid the bright calm close of our lives be one!

A PARTING SONG.

"Oh! mes Amis, rappelez vous quelqefois mes vers; mon ame y est empreinte."-Corinne.

WHEN will ye think of me, my friends?

When will ye think of me?

When the last red light, the farewell of day,
From the rock and the river is passing away,
When the air with a deepening hush is fraught,
And the heart grows burdened with tender thought;
Then let it be!

When will ye think of me, kind friends?
When will ye think of me?—
When the rose of the rich midsummer time
Is filled with the hues of its glorious prime;
When ye gather its bloom, as in bright hours fled,
From the walks where my footsteps no more may
tread;

Then let it be!

BRIDE! upon thy marriage-day,
When thy gems in rich array
Made the glistening mirror seem
As a star-reflecting stream.
When the clustering pearls lay fair
'Midst thy braids of sunny air,

And the white veil o'er thee streaming,
Like a silvery halo gleaming,
Mellowed all that pomp and light
Into something meekly bright;
Did the fluttering of thy breath
Speak of joy or wo beneath?
And the hue that went and came
O'er thy cheek, like wavering flame,
Flowed that crimson from th' unrest,
Or the gladness of thy breast?
-Who shall tell us ?-from thy bower,
Brightly didst thou pass that hour;
With the many-glancing oar,
And the cheer along the shore,
And the wealth of summer flowers
On thy fair head cast in showers,
And the breath of song and flute,
And the clarion's glad salute,
Swiftly o'er the Adrian tide

Wert thou borne in pomp, young bride!
Mirth and music, sun and sky,
Welcomed thee triumphantly!

From love's wane-a death in life

Yet, perchance, a chastening thought,
In some deeper spirit wrought,
Whispering, as untold it blent
With the sounds of merriment,—
"From the home of childhood's glee
From the days of laughter free,
From the love of many years,
Thou art gone to cares and fears!
To another path and guide,
To a bosom yet untried!

Bright one! oh! there well may be
Trembling 'midst our joy for thee."
Bride! when through the stately fane,
Circled with thy nuptial train,
'Midst the banners hung on high
By thy warrior-ancestry,
'Midst those mighty fathers dead,
In soft beauty thou wast led;
When before the shrine thy form
Quivered to some bosom storm,
When, like harp-strings with a sigh
Breaking in mid-harmony,
On thy lip the murmurs low
Died with love's unfinished vow;
When, like scattered rose-leaves, fled
From thy cheek each tint of red,
And the light forsook thine eye,
And thy head sank heavily;
Was that drooping but th' excess
Of thy spirit's blessedness?

Or did some deep feeling's might.
Folded in thy heart from sight,
With a sudden tempest shower,
Earthward bear thy life's young flower?
-Who shall tell us?-on thy tongue
Silence, and for ever, hung!
Never to thy lip and cheek

Rushed again the crimson streak
Never to thine eye returned

That which there had beamed and burned!
With the secret none might know,
With thy rapture or thy wo,
With thy marriage-robe and wreath,
Thou wert fled, young bride of death!
Que, one lightning moment there
Struck down triumph to despair,
Beauty, splendour, hope, and trust,
Into darkness-terror-dust!

There were sounds of weeping o'er thee,
Bride! as forth thy kindred bore thee,
Shrouded in thy gleaming veil,
Deaf to that wild funeral-wail.
Yet perchance a chastening thought,
In some deeper spirit wrought,
Whispering, while the stern sad knell
On the air's bright stillness fell;
-"From the power of chill and change
Souls to sever and estrange;

But to watch-a mortal strife:
From the secret fevers known

To the burning heart alone,
Thou art fled-afar, away-

Where these blights no more have sway!
Bright one! oh! there well may be
Comfort 'midst our tears for thee!"

THE ANCESTRAL SONG.

A long war disturbed your mind-
Here your perfect peace is signed,
"T is now full tide 'twixt night and day,
End your moan, and come away!
Webster-Duchess of Malfy.

THERE were faint sounds of weeping;-fear and gloom

And midnight vigil in a stately room
Of Lusignan's old halls:-rich odours there
Filled the proud chamber as with Indian air,
And soft light fell, from lamps of silver thrown,
On jewels that with rainbow lustre shone
Over a gorgeous couch:-there emeralds gleamed,
And deeper crimson from the ruby streamed
Than in the heart-leaf of the rose is set,
Hiding from sunshine.-Many a carcanet
Starry with diamonds, many a burning chain
Of the red gold, sent forth a radiance vain,
And sad, and strange, the canopy beneath
Whose shadowy curtains, round a bed of death,
Hung drooping solemnly;--for there one lay
Passing from all Earth's glories fast away,
Amidst those queenly treasures: They had been
Gifts of her lord, from far-off Paynim lands,
And for his sake, upon their orient sheen
She had gazed fondly, and with faint, cold hands
Had pressed them to her languid heart once more,
Melting in childlike tears. But this was o'er-
Love's last vain clinging unto life; and now-
A mist of dreams was hovering o'er her brow,
Her eye was fixed, her spirit seemed removed,
Though not from Earth, from all it knew or loved,
Far, far away! her handmaids watched around,
In awe, that lent to each low midnight sound
A might, a mystery; and the quivering light
Of wind-swayed lamps, made spectral in their sight
The forms of buried beauty, sad, yet fair,
Gleaming along the walls with braided hair,
Long in the dust grown dim; and she, too, saw,
But with the spirit's eye of raptured awe,
Those pictured shapes!-a bright, yet solemn
train,

Beckoning, they floated o'er her dreamy brain,
Clothed in diviner hues; while on her ear
Strange voices fell, which none besides might hear,

CORINNE AT THE CAPITOL.

Les femmes doivent penser qu'il est dans cette carrière bien peu de sorte qui puissent valoir la plus obscure vie, d'une femme aimée et d'une mère heureuse.

Madame de Stael.

DAUGHTER of th' Italian heaven!
Thou, to whom its fires are given,
Joyously thy car hath rolled
Where the conquerors passed of old;
And the festal sun that shone,
O'er three* hundred triumphs gone,
Makes thy day of glory bright,
With a shower of golden light.
Now thou tread'st th' ascending road,
Freedom's foot so proudly trode;
While, from tombs of heroes borne,
From the dust of empire shorn,
Flowers upon thy graceful head,
Chaplets of all hues are shed,
In a soft and rosy rain,
Touched with many a gemlike stain.
Thou hast gained the summit now
Music hails thee from below;—
Music, whose rich notes might stir
Ashes of the sepulchre;
Shaking with victorious notes
All the bright air as it floats.
Well may woman's heart beat high
Unto that proud harmony!
Now afar it rolls-it dies-
And thy voice is heard to rise
With a low and lovely tone
In its thrilling power alone;
And thy lyre's deep silvery string,
Touched as by a breeze's wing,
Murmurs tremblingly at first,
Ere the tide of rapture burst.

All the spirit of thy sky
Now hath lit thy large dark eye,
And thy cheek a flush hath caught
From the joy of kindled thought;
And the burning words of song
From thy lips flow fast and strong,
With a rushing stream's delight
In the freedom of its might.
Radiant daughter of the sun!
Now thy living wreath is won.

Crowned of Rome!-Oh! art thou not
Happy in that glorious lot?—
Happier, happier far than thou,
With the laurel on thy brow,

She that makes the humblest hearth
Lovely but to one on earth!

The trebly hundred triumphs.-Byron.

THE RUIN.

Oh! 'tis the heart that magnifies this life
Making a truth and beauty of its own.

Wordsworth. Birth has gladdened it: Death has sanctified it. Guesses at Truth.

No dower of storied song is thine,
O desolate abode!

Forth from thy gates no glittering line
Of lance and spear hath flowed.
Banners of knighthood have not flung
Proud drapery o'er thy walls,
Nor bugle notes to battle rung
Through thy resounding halls.

Nor have rich bowers of pleasaunce here
By courtly hands been dressed,
For Princes, from the chase of deer,
Under green leaves to rest:
Only some rose, yet lingering bright
Beside thy casements lone,
Tells where the spirit of delight

Hath dwelt, and now is gone.

Yet minstrel tale of harp and sword,
And sovereign beauty's lot,

House of quenched light and silent board!
For me thou needest not.

It is enough to know that here,

Where thoughtfully I stand,
Sorrow and love, and hope and fear,
Have linked one kindred band.

Thou bindest me with mighty spells!
-A solemnizing breath,

A presence all around thee dwells,
Of human life and death.

I need but pluck yon garden flower
From where the wild weeds rise,

To wake, with strange and sudden power,
A thousand sympathies.

Thou hast heard many sounds, thou hearth Deserted now by all!

Voices at eve here met in mirth

Which eve may ne'er recall.
Youth's buoyant step, and woman's tone,
And childhood's laughing glee,

And song and prayer, have all been known,
Hearth of the dead! to thee.

Thou hast heard blessings fondly poured
Upon the infant head,

As if in every fervent word

The living soul were shed;
Thou hast seen partings, such as bear

The bloom from life away-
Alas! for love in changeful air,

Where nought beloved can stay!