"We do too little feel each others' pain; We do relax too much the social chain That binds us to each other; slight the care There is for grief in which we have no share."

"I cannot choose but marvel at the way In which our lives pass on, from day to day Learning strange lessons in the human heart, And yet like shadows letting them depart."

"For my spirit hath left her earthly home And found a nobler dwelling, Where the music of light is that of life, And the starry harps are swelling."

"Where do purple bubbles swim, But upon the goblet's brim ? Drink not deep, howe'er it glow Sparkles never lie below."

"My heart is like the failing hearth Now by my side, One by one its bursts of flame Have burnt and died."

"I numbered years of pain and distress, And but fourteen days of happiness. Mortal, nor pleasure, nor wealth, nor power, Are more than the toys of a passing hour;"

"Ahmed comes back a conqueror, but what hath he found? The cry of the orphan is loud on his ear, And his eye hath beheld the young bride's bitter tear, And the friend of his youth is left dead on the plain, And the flower of his nobles return not again. There are crowds that are filling the air with his name; Do ye marvel the monarch is loathing his fame?"

"I'm weary, I'm weary. Oh! pleasure is pain When its spell has been broken again and again. I am weary of smiles that are bought and are sold, I am weary of beauty whose fetters are gold, I am weary of wealth—what makes it of me But that which the basest and lowest might be?"

"Beautiful weakness! oh, if weak, That woman's heart should tinge her cheek! 'Tis sad to change it for the strength That heart and cheek must know at length."

"What need hath she Of shrine to her divinity? Each fair face is her visible shrine; She hath been, she will be divine."

"Dreary it is the path to trace, Step by step of sin's wild race."

"The earth was parched, the trees were sear'd, And blasted every branch appear'd; At one end yawned a gloomy cave, Black, as its mouth were that of the grave; And dark, as if the waters of death Were in its depths, rose a well beneath."

"Alas! when angry words begin Their entrance on the lip to win; When sullen eye and flushing cheek Say more than bitterest tone could speak; And look and word, than fire or steel, Give wounds more deep,—time cannot heal; And anger digs, with tauntings vain, A gulf it may not pass again."

"Oh! frail are the many links that are In the chain of affection's tender care,"

"Despair weeps not. Her lip moved as in prayer Unconsciously ; as if prayers had been there, And they moved now from custom."

"There stood she, even as a statue stands, With head droop'd downward, and with clasped hands; Such small white hands that match'd her ivory feet, How may they bear that scorching fire to meet?"

"True love is timid, as it knew its worth, And that such happiness is scarce for earth."

"Out on the heartless creed which nulls the claim Upon the heart of kindred, birth, and name."

"'T was night, but night which the imperial moon, Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon, But still the noon of midnight; though the ray Was clear and bright, it was not that of day;"

"And Love is like the lightning in its might, Winging where least bethought its fiery flight, Melting the blade, despite the scabbard's guard."

"For he had curious colours, that could give The human face so like, it seem'd to live."

"It is a charmed ring—this emerald stone Will be a sign, when thou art from me gone. Mark if it changes; if a spot be seen On the now spotless ground of lighted green, Danger is round me; haste thou then to me, Thou know'st how fearless is my trust in thee."

"For love is like the breathing wind, That everywhere may entrance find."

"It was a summer evening; and the sea Seem'd to rejoice in its tranquillity ; Rolling its gentle waters to the west, Till the rich crimson blush'd upon their breast, Uniting lovingly the wave and sky, Like Hope content in its delight to die."

"Then rose those deadlier sounds that tell When foes meet hand to hand,— The shout, the yell, the iron clang Of meeting spear and brand."

"Light like the wan blue flames that wave Their death-torch o'er the murderer's grave ; And flickering shapes beset the way, Watching in gloom to seize their prey, Most terrible, for that the eye Wander'd in dim uncertainty ;"

"The bright cloud shone on the river's face, But the death-black waters had not a trace Of the crimson blaze that over them play'd : It seem'd as if a curse were laid On the grass, on the river, the tree, and the flower, And shut them out from the sunbeam's power ;"

"On the horizon is a star, Its earliest, loveliest one by far ; A blush is yet upon the sky, As if too beautiful to die,— A last gleam of the setting sun, Like hope when love has just begun ;"

"Where on earth is the truth that may vie With woman's lone and long constancy?"

"Let worldly coldness and care depart, And yield to the spell of the minstrel's art."

"'Tis May again, another May, Looking as if it meant to stay ; So many are its thousand flowers, So glorious are its sunny hours, So green its earth, so blue its sky, As made for Hope's eternity."

"But not like this is Nature's face, Though even she must bear the trace Of the great curse that clings to all ; Her leaves, her flowers, must spring to fall :"

"Oh, what am I, and what are they ? Masquers but striving to deceive Themselves and others ; and believe It is enough, if none shall know The covered mass of care below."

"TO-MORROW, to-morrow, thou loveliest May, To-morrow will rise up thy first-born day; Bride of the summer, child of the spring, To-morrow the year will its favourite bring:"

"He fell as other thousands do, Trampled down where they fall, While on a single name is heap'd The glory gain'd by all. Yet even he whose common grave Lies in the open fields, Died not without a thought of all The joy that glory yields."

"It matters not its history; love has wings Like lightning , swift and fatal, and it springs Like a wild flower where it is least expected, Existing whether cherish'd or rejected;"

"AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child, Ay, screen it if you may,— Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand Will scare the hawk away."

"Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own, But only to the spring and summer known."

"During slumber's magic reign Other times shall live again;"

"The dying chief sprang to his knee, And the staunch'd wounds well'd fearfully; But his gash'd arm, what is it now? Livid his lip, and black his brow, While over him the slayer stood, As if he almost scorn'd the blood That cost so little to be won,— He strikes,—the work of death is done!"

"... oh! love will last When all that made it happiness is past,— When all its hopes are as the glittering toys Time present offers, time to come destroys,—"

"It was no fancy, he had named the name Of love, and at that thought her cheek grew flame:"

"Alas, tears are the poet's heritage!"

"Never, dear father, love can be, Like the dear love I had for thee!"

"There is a flower, a snow-white flower, Fragile as if a morning shower Would end its being, and the earth Forget to what it gave a birth; And it looks innocent and pale, Slight as the least force could avail To pluck it from its bed, and yet Its root in depth and strength is set. The July sun, the autumn rain, Beat on its slender stalk in vain;— Around it spreads, despite of care, Till the whole garden is its share; And other plants must fade and fall Beneath its deep and deadly thrall. This is love's emblem; it is nurst In all unconciousness at first, Too slight, too fair, to wake distrust; No sign how that an after hour Will rue and weep its fatal power."

"—music's power Is little felt in sunlit hour; But hear its voice when hopes depart, Like swallows, flying from the heart On which the summer's late decline Has set a sadness and a sign;. . . . . . How deeply will the spirit feel The lute, the song's sweet-voiced appeal; And how the heart drink in their sighs As echoes they from Paradise."

"There is a steep and lofty wall, Where my warders trembling stand, He who at speed shall ride round its height, For him shall be my hand."

"'Tis strange how the heart can create Or colour from itself its fate; We make ourselves our own distress, We are ourselves our happiness."

"Oh! why should woman ever love, Trusting to one false star above; And fling her little chance away Of sunshine for its treacherous ray."