SONG.

IMITATED FROM THE GERMAN.

Alone, I feel not solitary,
Still before my raptur'd sight
Thy lov'd image, ever near me,
Glides amid the pale moonlight.

Whatsoe'er my thought or feeling,
Wheresoe'er I rest or rove,

Joy or sadness o'er me stealing,

Still my heart is with my love!

Like the starbeams, earthward streaming, Beauty's ray is pour'd from thee:

Ah! like them in Heaven beaming,

Unattainable to me.

THE DESERTED MOTHER

TO HER CHILD.

O smile not thus on me, my child, Ah! wear not thou those glances gay; 'Twas thus thy faithless father smiled, 'Twas thus he won my heart away.

The fearful beauty of thy brow,

Those glossy rings of raven hair,

Are all thy sire's,-ah! ne'er mays't thou Like him be false as thou art fair.

When time thy sportive mood shall tame,
And thou shalt know thyself to be
The child of sorrow, sin, and shame,
Nurtur'd in tears and misery ;

When thou the whisper'd taunt shall hear,
And feel thy heart with anguish torn,
Ah! will not then those features wear

The smile of hate, the glance of scorn?

'Twere only just, although thou wert— Yet this by me shall ne'er be seen, heart,

The

of Death is on my grasp Where grief hath long a dweller been; And thou, my child, my grave wilt seek,

(When none are nigh, thy grief to see) Of her whose tears have dew'd thy cheek, Who suffer'd life alone for thee!

A SUMMER EVENING DREAM.

The sun had sunk in glory down,
From lake and forest, cot and town,
The dazzling beams of day were gone,
Yet still a lingering radiance shone,
In rosy hue, soft, rich, and bland,
Along the hills of Westmoreland.
On a river's bank, amid a wood,
An old baronial castle stood;

The centre of a wide domain
Of hill and forest, stream and plain,
As fair as ever warrior won,
Or evening sun-light shone upon.
The thrush, upon the loftiest tree
Pour'd his voluptuous melody,
Sweet is that song at evening's close,
And well his mate its meaning knows,
That brooding o'er her callow young
Listens the dewy leaves among!

The wind was low, the woods were still,

The partridge call'd upon the hill,

The trout leapt up in the glassy pool,

O'ercanopied by alders cool:

Trooping behind the stately stag

From the shelter'd spot beneath the crag,

Where the sward is short, and the flowers are sweet, And the lady fern and hazels meet,

The dappled deer came down to drink,

Or view their shadows from the brink,

Or sought the green o'erarching boughs,

To lay them down in light repose.

'Twas a scene and an hour when the feeling heart

Dreams o'er what words can ne'er impart,

When deeper thoughts of tenderness
Than voice or glance can e'er express,
Well from the fountains fresh and free
Of Love, and Hope, and Memory!
In such a scene, and such an hour,
And feeling all its softening power,
The Lord and Lady of the Hall
Sate near a tiny waterfall,

Whose sparkling current o'er a linn

Sprang down, and made a dreamy din;
Hand lock'd in hand they view'd the scene,
Though few the words that pass'd between.
In her blue beaming eye of youth
Dwelt Love, and Constancy, and Truth;
Confiding Sweetness, Mercy fair,
Might charm a demon from despair!
In his warm glance, and lofty brow,
There dwelt the intellectual glow
Which speaks the soul of fire and pride,
To Sorrow as to Joy allied.

A lovely child sate at their feet,

In whom his parents' features meet;

His Mother's mild beseeching eye,
His Father's brow, pale, proud and high;