Friday, February 15, 1856.

Saturday, February 16.

Monday, February 11.

Sunday, February 24, 1856.

The man that would steal a pin would perform the same operation on a drawbar were it as easy of concealment. The sign that steals not from the fear of the mill far outstrips

Monday, February 25.

The highwayman for the latter has a good quality which the former lacks courage.

Tuesday, February 26.

TO 243

Sweet orphan—when death of thy parents bereft thee,

Our friendship we thought might atone for their love;

Yet why should we mourn that thy spirit hath left thee

To mingle with theirs in the regions above?

HEMANS.

TO ——

I SEND thee lilies given to me;

Though, long before thy hand they touch,

I know that they must withered be;

But yet reject them not as such:

For I have cherished them as dear,

Because they yet may meet thine eye,

And guide thy soul to mine even here,

When thou behold'st them drooping nigh,

And know'st them gathered by the Rhine,

And offered from my heart to thine!

The river nobly foams and flows,

The charm of this enchanted ground,

And all its thousand turns disclose

Some fresher beauty varying round;

244

SONG.

The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear:
Could thy dear eyes, in following mine,
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

BYRON.

SONG,

ON DELIVERING THE CUP OF THE WATER OF LETHE
TO THE ASPIRANT TO THE EGYPTIAN MYSTERIES.

DRINK of this cup—Osiris sips
The same in his halls below;
And the same he gives to cool the lips
Of the dead who downward go.

Drink of this cup, the water within
Is fresh from Lethe's stream;
'Twill make the past, with all its sin,
And all its pains and sorrows, seem
Like a long-forgotten dream!

The pleasure whose charms
Are steeped in woe;
The knowledge that harms
The soul to know;

THE TROUBADOUR'S LAY.

253

The gentle care of kindred-love
To him came rarely nigh;
And even in his infancy
His heart had learned to sigh!

He was a lonely widow's child—
A stranger in the land;

And very few the friends she knew
That shewed a friendly hand:

The thoughtfulness which age should cast,
Made sad his youthful eye;

And thus his early boyhood past—
Whose memory was a sigh!

But better days, with riper years,
Shone round his home of care;
The friendless boy—though nursed in tears—
Found nobler wealth to share;

The angel-light of genius threw
A glory o'er his breast;

His early name was linked to fame—
The widow's home was blest!

C. SWAIN.

THE TROUBADOUR'S LAY.

KNIGHT.

SAY, will you, or wont you, lady bright,
Deign from your casement to look to-night?
Love's star shines bright o'er tree and tower,
O, deign to smile on the trobadour.

254

THOU NEVER ART FORGOT.

I climbed the Alps, where the wild chamois
Bounds light and free o'er its native snow,
And paced the vales of the fruitful Rhine.
To bring the heart that's long been thine.

LADY.

Who is it that wakes that soft guitar!
Is it to greet yon waning star!
For he that should sing in solace to me,
Is a pilgrim far beyond the sea;
My heart's in his keeping, and ever shall be,
So waste not your song on Rosalie.

KNIGHT.

The saint I invoked on the battle-plain;
In the vesper hour, and the cup did drain,
No other name I knew but thine—
Thou wast my saint and my heart's own shrine:
Say, will you, or wont you, lady bright,
Deign to smile on your own true knight?

A. CRAWFORD.

THOU NEVER ART FORGOT.

Is it because amid the crowd
My accents name thee not—
Because my wailing is not loud,
That thou hast been forgot?