SERENADE.

I.

Ан, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet, while I address thee now,

Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 'Tis sweet enough to make me weep,

That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hush'd so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!

II.

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! With golden visions for thy dower, While I this midnight vigil keep,

And bless thee in thy silent bower; To me 'tis sweeter than the power Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl'd, That I alone, at this still hour,

In patient love outwatch the world.

VERSES IN AN ALBUM.

I.

FAR above the hollow
Tempest, and its moan,

Singeth bright Apollo

In his golden zone,—

Cloud doth never shade him,

Nor a storm invade him,

On his joyous throne.

II.

So when I behold me
In an orb as bright,

How thy soul doth fold me
In its throne of light!
Sorrow never paineth,
Nor a care attaineth,
To that blessed height.

239

BALLAD.

I.

It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses,-

We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

II.

That churlish season never frown'd

On early lovers yet!

Oh, no—the world was newly crown'd

With flowers when first we met.

III.

Twas twilight, and I bade you go,

But still you held me fast;
It was the time of roses,-
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

BALLAD.

I.

SPRING it is cheery,

Winter is dreary,

Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he's forsaken,

Wither'd and shaken,

What can an old man do but die?

II.

Love will not clip him,

Maids will not lip him,

Maud and Marian pass him by;

Youth it is sunny,

Age has no honey,

What can an old man do but die?

III.

June it was jolly,

O for its folly!

A dancing leg and a laughing eye;

Youth may be silly,

Wisdom is chilly,—

What can an old man do but die?

IV.

Friends they are scanty, Beggars are plenty, If he has followers, I know why; Gold's in his clutches,

(Buying him crutches!)—

What can an old man do but die?