Thy heart was glad in maiden glee;
But he it loved so fervently

Was faithless all the while :
I hate him for the vow he spoke-
I hate him for the vow he broke !

I hid the love that could not die-
Its doubts, and hopes, and fears;
And buried all my misery
In secrecy and tears.

And days pass'd on-and thou didst prove
The pangs of unrequited love,

Even in thy early years:

And thou didst die-so fair and good-
In silence and in solitude.

While thou wert living I did hide
Affection's secret pains;

I'd not have shock'd thy modest pride
For all the world contains:

But thou hast perish'd and the fire,
That, often check'd, could ne'er expire,
Again unbidden reigns ;-

It is no crime to speak my vow,
For, ah! thou canst not hear it now.

Thou sleep'st beneath thy lowly stone
That dark and dreamless sleep;
And he, thy loved and chosen one,
Why goes he not to weep?

He does not kneel where I have knelt;
He cannot feel what I have felt-

The anguish still and deep

The painful thought of what has been-
The canker worm that is not seen.

But I, as o'er the dark blue wave

Unconsciously I ride,

My thoughts are hovering o'er thy grave,
My soul is by thy side.

There is one voice that wails thee yet-
One heart that cannot e'er forget
The visions that have died:
And aye thy form is buried there-
A doubt-an anguish-a despair 1

L'ENVOY TO THE AUTHOR'S TRANSLATION OF TASSO.

J. H. WIFFEN.

FARE thee well, soul of sweet Romance! farewell, Harp of the South! the stirring of whose strings Has given, by power of their melodious spell,

Such pleasant speed to Time's else weary wings, That-rapt in spirit to the Delphic cell,

'Midst its green laurels and prophetic springs,The tuneful labours of past years now seem A brief indulgence-an enchanted dream.

My pride at noon, my vision of the night,
My hope at morn, my joy at lonely eve!
Now that thy tones of magical delight

Are o'er, do I not well to droop and grieve?

To what new region shall the Muse take flight,

What pictures fashion, what fresh numbers weave, When all that else had charm'd must now appear Tame to the eye and tuneless to the ear?

Much shall I miss thee when, in calm repose,
The Summer moon upon my casement shines;
Much, when the melancholy Autumn strows

With leaves my walk beneath th' o'erarching pines. Nor less when Spring, 'twixt shower and sunshine,

throws

Abroad the sweet breath of her eglantines,
And Winter deepens with its stormy din
The quiet charm of the bright hearth within.

If with no vulgar aim, no selfish view,

I sought to give thy foreign chords a tongue, Let not my hopes all pass like morning dew, When on thy cypress bough again thou'rt hung; But sometimes whisper of me to the few

I love, the fond, the faithful, and the young, And those who reverence the wrong'd soul that plann'd Thy world of sound with archangelic hand.

Hear how the strings, dear IDA, sound abroad
The grief and glory of that matchless mind!
What ardour glows in each seraphic chord;
How deep a passion Echo leaves behind!
Yet was he wretched whom all tongues applaud;—
For peace he panted, for affection pined:
Be thou, whilst thy mild eyes with pity swim,
More kind to me than AURA was to him ;-

Else shall I little prize th' indulgent praise

Which some may lavish on a task so long; - Else shall I mourn, that e'er my early days

Were given to feeling, solitude, and song; But thee no light capricious fancy sways,

To doubt thy truth would he the heavens to
wrong;

Peace to thy spirit with the closing spell!
And thou, Hesperian Harp, farewell, farewell!

COULDST THOU BUT KNOW.

LADY CAROLINE LAMB.

COULDST thou but know what 'tis to weep-
To weep unpitied and alone,

The livelong night whilst others sleep,
Silent and mournful watch to keep,

Thou wouldst not do what I have done.

Couldst thou but know what 'tis to smile,
To smile when scorn'd by every one;
To hide by many an artful wile

A heart that knows more grief than guile,
Thou wouldst not do what I have done.

And, oh! if thou couldst think how drear,
When friends are changed, and health is gone,

The world would to thine eyes appear,

If thou, like me, to none wert dear,

Thou wouldst not do what I have done.