SONNET.

LADY, whom my beloved loves so well!
When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth,
When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell,

And the bright flood of burning light, that shineth In his dark eyes, is poured into thine;

When thou shalt lie enfolded to his heart,
In all the trusting helplessness of love;
If in such joy sorrow can find a part,
Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine!
Which I would have thee pity, but not prove.
One cold, calm, careless, wintry look, that fell
Haply by chance on me, is all that he

E'er gave my love; round that, my wild thoughts dwell

In one eternal pang of memory.

ΤΟ

WHEN the dawn

O'er hill and dale

Throws her bright veil,

Oh, think of me!

When the rain

With starry showers

Fills all the flowers,

Oh, think of me! When the wind Sweeps along,

Loud and strong,

Oh, think of me! When the laugh With silver sound

Goes echoing round,

Oh, think of me!

When the night

With solemn eyes

Looks from the skies,

Oh, think of me!

When the air
Still as death
Holds its breath,

Oh, think of me!
When the earth

Sleeping sound

Swings round and round, Oh, think of me!

When thy soul

O'er life's dark sea
Looks gloomily,

Oh, think of me!

7*

WOMAN'S LOVE.

A MAIDEN meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes,
Full of eternal constancy and faith,
And smiling lips, thro' whose soft portal sighs
Truth's holy voice, with ev'ry balmy breath,
So journeys she along life's crowded way,

Keeping her soul's sweet counsel from all sight; Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray,

Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or bright: For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her heart Knows well in suffering how to bear its part. Patiently lives she thro' each dreary day,

Looking with little hope unto the morrow;
And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow.

TO MRS.

I NEVER shall forget thee-'tis a word

Thou oft must hear, for surely there be none

On whom thy wondrous eyes have ever shone But for a moment, or who e'er have heard Thy voice's deep impassioned melody,

Can lose the memory of that look or tone. But, not as these, do I say unto thee,

I never shall forget thee:-in thine eyes,
Whose light, like sunshine, makes the world rejoice,
A stream of sad and solemn splendour lies;
And there is sorrow in thy gentle voice.

Thou art not like the scenes in which I found thee,
Thou art not like the beings that surround thee;
To me, thou art a dream of hope and fear;
Yet why of fear?-oh sure! the Power that lent
Such gifts, to make thee fair, and excellent;
Still watches one whom it has deigned to bless
With such a dower of grace and loveliness;

Over the dangerous waves 'twill surely steer