Come away!-the heart, at last forsaken,
Smile by smile, hath proved each hope untrue;
Yet a breath can still those words awaken,

Though to other shores far hence they woo:
Come away!

In the light leaves, in the reed's faint sighing,
In the low sweet sounds of early spring,
Still their music wanders-till the dying
Hears them pass, as on a spirit's wing:
Come away!

FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL.

"Fair Helen of Kirconnel," as she is called in the Scottish Minstrelsy, throwing herself between her betrothed lover and a rival by whom his life was assailed, received a mortal wound, and died in the arms of the former.

HOLD me upon thy faithful heart,
Keep back my flitting breath;
'Tis early, early to depart,

Beloved!-yet this is death!

Look on me still:-let that kind eye

Be the last light I see!
Oh! sad it is in spring to die,

But yet I die for thee!

For thee, my own! thy stately head

Was never thus to bow

Give tears when with me love hath fled,
True love, thou know'st it now!

Oh the free streams look'd bright, where'er
We in our gladness roved;
And the blue skies were very fair-

O friend! because we loved.

Farewell!-I bless thee-live thou on,
When this young heart is low!
Surely my blood thy life hath won-
Clasp me once more-I go!

MUSIC FROM SHORE.

A SOUND comes on the rising breeze,
A sweet and lovely sound!
Piercing the tumult of the seas
That wildly dash around.

From land, from sunny land it comes,
From hills with murmuring trees,
From paths by still and happy homes-
That sweet sound on the breeze.

Why should its faint and passing sigh
Thus bid my quick pulse leap?
No part in earth's glad melody
Is mine upon the deep.

Yet blessing, blessing on the spot
Whence those rich breathings flow!

Kind hearts, although they know me not,
Like mine there beat and glow.

And blessing, from the bark that roams

O'er solitary seas,

To those that far in happy homes
Give sweet sounds to the breeze!

+ LOOK ON ME WITH THY CLOUDLESS EYES.

Look on me with thy cloudless eyes,
Truth in their dark transparence lies;
Their sweetness gives me back the tears,
And the free trust of early years-
My gentle child!

The spirit of my infant prayer

Shines in the depths of quiet there;

And home and love once more are mine,
Found in that dewy calm divine,

My gentle child!

Oh! heaven is with thee in thy dreams,
Its light by day around thee gleams:
Thy smile hath gifts from vernal skies;
Look on me with thy cloudless eyes,
My gentle child!

The songs marked thus ‡ are in the possession of Mr. Willis,

to be published by him with music.

IF THOU HAST CRUSH'D A FLOWER.

"O cast thou not

Affection from thee! In this bitter world

Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast;
Watch-guard it-suffer not a breath to dim
The bright gem's purity!"

Ir thou hast crush'd a flower,
The root may not be blighted;
If thou hast quench'd a lamp,

Once more it may be lighted:
But on thy harp or on thy lute,
The string which thou hast broken,
Shall never in sweet sound again
Give to thy touch a token!

If thou hast loosed a bird

Whose voice of song could cheer thee, Still, still he may be won

From the skies to warble near thee:

But if upon the troubled sea

Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,

Hope not that wind or wave will bring
The treasure back when needed.

If thou hast bruised a vine,

The summer's breath is healing, And its clusters yet may glow

Through the leaves their bloom revealing:

But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown

With a bright draught fill'd-oh! never Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth To cool thy parch'd lips' fever!

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee; And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee; And like that string of harp or lute

Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd :-
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shatter'd.

BRIGHTLY HAST THOU FLED.

BRIGHTLY, brightly hast thou fled,
Ere one grief had bow'd thy head,
Brightly did'st thou part!

With thy young thoughts pure from spot,
With thy fond love wasted not,

With thy bounding heart.

Ne'er by sorrow to be wet,

Calmly smiles thy pale cheek yet,

Ere with dust o'erspread:

Lilies ne'er by tempest blown,

White rose which no stain hath known, Be about thee shed!

So we give thee to the earth,

And the primrose shall have birth
O'er thy gentle head;

Thou, that like a dewdrop borne
On a sudden breeze of morn,

Brightly thus hast fled!