My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,

My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet methinks a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine;

And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

O lady! blessed be that tear,

It falls for one that cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eye no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet, wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak these words again;

Yet, if they grieve thee, say not so,

I would not give that bosom pain,

Stanzas,

239

Stanzas,

WRITTEN OPPOSITE THE LURLEY, ON THE RHINE.

BY BARRY ST LEGER.

HOW strange and wild these sounds are!-oh! 'tis sweet

To breathe the name of one beloved, and hear

This countless Echo's magic voice repeat,
Bounding from rock to rock, a note so dear!
Alone to hear it, too-lest it should meet,
So loved and sacred, an indifferent ear;

One would not have this cherish'd, heart-nursed tone
Received by any ear except one's own!

How soothing 'tis to sit upon the brink
Of this majestic river, and, among
These mighty crags, deliciously to drink

These our own echoes, as they float along
The answering rock !-well might the fisher think
Such sounds to be the water-spirit's song,

And fable a fair creature to give breath
To tones so sweet they even lured to Death!

Oh! I could linger ages in this place

Of manifold enchantments;-the soft light,
Form'd by the meeting cliffs-around their base
The splendid stream-the tower which to the sight
Seems hung upon the mountain's beetling face.

Oh! who can view such scene without delight ?
'Tis one which rivets the retreating eye,
And which the full heart parts from with a sigh.

YE

The Exile.

BY MISS BANNERMAN.

E hills of my country, soft fading in blue,
Ye seats of my childhood, for ever adieu !
Yet not for a brighter your skies I resign,
When my wandering footsteps revisit the Rhine;
But sacred to me is the roar of the wave

That mingles its tide with the blood of the brave,
Where blasts of the trumpet for battle combine,
And the heart was laid low that gave rapture to mine.

Ye scenes of remembrance that sorrow beguiled,
Your uplands I leave for the desolate wild ;

For nature is nought to the eye of despair

But the image of hopes that have vanish'd in air :

Again, ye fair blossoms of flower and of tree,

Ye shall bloom to the morn, though ye bloom not for me; Again your lone wood-paths that wind by the stream,

Be the haunt of the lover, to hope and to dream.

But never to me shall the summer renew

;

The bowers where the days of my happiness flew
Where my soul found her partner, and thought to bestow
The colours of heaven on the dwellings of woe.
Too faithful recorders of times that are past,
The Eden of Love that was ever to last;
Once more may soft accents your wild echoes fill,
And the young and the happy be worshippers still.
To me ye are lost!—but your summits of green
Shall charm through the distance of many a scene;

Prayer.

In woe and in wandering 'mid deserts return,
Like the soul of the dead to the perishing urn!

Ye hills of my country, farewell evermore!

As I cleave the dark waves of your rock-rugged shore,
I ask of the hovering gale if it come

241

From the oak-towering woods on the mountains of home.

My suppliant voice is heard. Ah! do not deem
That on vain toys I throw my hours away.

In the recesses of the forest vale,

On the wild mountain, on the verdant sod, Where the fresh breezes of the morn prevail, I wander lonely, communing with God.

When the faint sickness of a wounded heart Creeps in cold shudderings through my sinking frame,

I turn to Thee-that holy peace impart

Which soothes the invokers of Thy awful name!

O all-pervading Spirit! sacred Beam!

Parent of life and light! Eternal Power!

Grant me through obvious clouds one transient gleam

Of Thy bright essence in my dying hour!

Q

Song.

'HE wine is red, the lamps are bright,

TH

And gems and jewels glance,

Where ladies with their loves to-night

Are mingling in the dance;
But, ah! the music's softest swells
No gladness brings to me-
The land of mists and heather-bells
Is far beyond the sea!

I sought the grove where fire-flies gleam, 'Mong rinds of red and gold,

To banish from my mind the dream;
But still the days of old,

The glens, the moors, the mountain-fells,
Came back again to me-

The land of mist and heather-bells,

Beyond the northern sea.

This land is rich with all the hues

And treasures of the spring; Around my path, 'mongst moonlight dews, The ceaseless insects sing;

But still my lingering spirit dwells

With one who walk'd with me 'Mong misty moors and heather-bells. Beyond the northern sea.