Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While the placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:

Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show !
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee-
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's woe:

Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found

Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, O, yet thyself deceive not;

Love may sink by slow decay; But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaine th—

Still must mine, though bleeding beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is-that we no more may meet.

These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"
Though his care she must forego!
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is pressed,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed!

Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou nevermore mayst see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, whene'er thou goest,
Whither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now;
But 't is done; all words are idle-
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well!-thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Seared in heart and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.

a

LORD BYRON.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

LL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;
"O, where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew."
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard
He sighed, and cast his eyes below:
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest:-
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. "Believe not what the landmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors when away,

In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

'If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. "Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; “Adieu !” she cried; and waved her lily hand. JOHN GAY.

THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN.

HEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn;

The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.

I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-ochee,

To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.

I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,

And pause to pluck a flower, or hear the thrush's song. Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen, She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.

Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,

For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.

The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended knee

For love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.

So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,

With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.

I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine, And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her

to be mine.

Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dimlit dream

'Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream;

'Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh,

More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.

The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life, To mold its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.

'Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned

from above;

"y angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.

Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears

I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,

For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy

morn,

With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the

corn.

DON PIATT.

LAMENT

OF THE YOUNG HIGHLANDER SUMMONED FROM THE SIDE OF HIS BRIDE BY THE "FIERY CROSS" OF RODERICK DHU.

'HE heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bender bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me, Mary!
SIR WALTER Scott.

We met—and we parted forever!

The night-bird sung, and the stars above
Told many a touching story,

Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love,
Where the soul wears its mantle of glory.

We parted in silence-our cheeks were wet
With the tears that were past controlling ;
We vowed we would never, no, never forget,
And those vows at the time were consoling;
But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine
Are as cold as that lonely river;
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine,
Has shrouded its fires forever.
And now on the midnight sky I look,
And my heart grows full of weeping;
Each star is to me a sealed book,

Some tale of that loved one keeping.
We parted in silence-we parted in tears,
On the banks of that lonely river;

But the odor and bloom of those bygone years Shall hang o'er its waters forever.

JULIA CRAWFORD.

LOVE AND TIME.

'WO pilgrims from the distant plain
Come quickly o'er the mossy ground.
One is a boy, with locks of gold
Thick curling round his face so fair;
The other pilgrim, stern and old,

Has snowy beard and silver hair.

The youth with many a merry trick
Goes singing on his careless way;
His old companion walks as quick,

But speaks no word by night or day.
Where'er the old man treads, the grass

Fast fadeth with a certain doom;
But where the beauteous boy doth pass
Unnumbered flowers are seen to bloom.

And thus before the sage, the boy

Trips lightly o'er the blooming lands, And proudly bears a pretty toy— A crystal glass with diamond sands. A smile o'er any brow would pass To see him frolic in the sunTo see him shake the crystal glass, And make the sands more quickly run.

And now they leap the streamlet o'er, A silver thread so white and thin, And now they reach the open door, And now they lightly enter in : "God save all here "-that kind wish flies Still sweeter from his lips so sweet; "God save you kindly," Norah cries,

"Sit down, my child, and rest and ext."

"Thanks, gentle Norah, fair and good,

We'll rest awhile our weary feet;
But though this old man needeth food,
There's nothing here that he can eat.
His taste is strange, he eats alone,

Beneath some ruined cloister's cope,
Or on some tottering turret's stone,
While I can only live on-hope!
'A week ago, ere you were wed—
It was the very night before-
Upon so many sweets I fed

While passing by your mother's doorIt was that dear, delicious hour

When Owen here the nosegay brought, And found you in the woodbine bowerSince then, indeed, I've needed naught."

A blush steals over Norah's face,

A smile comes over Owen's brow, A tranquil joy illumes the place,

As if the moon were shining now; The boy beholds the pleasing pain,

The sweet confusion he has done, And shakes the crystal glass again,

And makes the sands more quickly run.

"Dear Norah, we are pilgrims, bound

Upon an endless path sublime;
We pace the green earth round and round,
And mortals call us LOVE and TIME;
He seeks the many, I the few;

I dwell with peasants, he with kings.
We seldom meet; but when we do.
I take his glass, and he my wings.
'And thus together on we go,

Where'er I chance or wish to lead;
And time, whose lonely steps are slow,
Now sweeps along with lightning speed.
Now on our bright predestined way

We must to other regions pass;
But take this gift, and night and day
Look well upon its truthful glass.
"How quick or slow the bright sands fall
Is hid from lovers' eyes alone,

If you can see them move at all,

Be sure your heart has colder grown. 'Tis coldness makes the glass grow dry, The icy hand, the freezing brow; But warm the heart and breathe the sigh, And then they'll pass you know not how." She took the glass where love's warm hands A bright impervious vapor cast, She looks, but cannot see the sands,

Although she feels they're falling fast. But cold hours came, and then, alas!

She saw them falling frozen through, Till love's warm light suffused the glass, And hid the loosening sands from view! DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY.

No western odors wander

On the black and moaning sea,

And when thou art dead. Leander,

My soul must follow thee!

O, go not yet, my love,

Thy voice is sweet and low;

The deep salt wave breaks in above Those marble steps below.

The turret stairs are wet

That lead into the sea.
Leander! go not yet.
The pleasant stars have set :

O, go not, go not yet,

Or I will follow thee.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER. AREWELL! but whenever you welcome the

hour

That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,

you!

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up

To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, will be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your
smiles-

Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice has murmured, "I wish he were
here!"

Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;

Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features which joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled! Like the vase in which roses have once been dis

tilled

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. THOMAS MOORE.