And art thou not, in earth or heaven,
Still, still my own?

I see thee with thy gleaming hair,
In midnight dreams!

But cold, and clear, and spirit-like,
Thy soft eye seems.

Peace in thy saddest hour, my love!
Dwelt on thy brow;

But something mournfully divine
There shineth now!

And silent ever is thy lip,

And pale thy cheek;

Oh! art thou earth's, or art thou heaven's,
Speak to me, speak!

VII. THE SONG OF HOPE.

DROOP not, my brothers! I hear a glad strain-
We shall burst forth like streams from the winter

night's chain;

A flag is unfurl'd, a bright star of the sea,
A ransom approaches-we yet shall be free!

Where the pines wave, where the light chamois leaps,
Where the lone eagle hath built on the steeps;
Where the snows glisten, the mountain-rills foam,
Free as the falcon's wing, yet shall we roam.
VOL. VII. - -7

Where the hearth shines, where the kind looks are

met,

Where the smiles mingle, our place shall be yet!
Crossing the desert, o'ersweeping the sea-
Droop not, my Brothers! we yet shall be free!

THE BIRD AT SEA.

BIRD of the greenwood!

Oh! why art thou here?
Leaves dance not o'er thee,
Flowers bloom not near.
All the sweet waters

Far hence are at play-
Bird of the greenwood!
Away, away!

Where the mast quivers,
Thy place will not be,

As 'midst the waving

Of wild rose and tree.
How should'st thou battle

With storm and with spray?
Bird of the greenwood!
Away, away!

Or art thou seeking

Some brighter land,
Where by the south wind

Vine leaves are fann'd?

'Midst the wild billows

Why then delay?

Bird of the greenwood!
Away, away!

"Chide not my lingering
Where storms are dark;
A hand that hath nursed me
Is in the bark;

A heart that hath cherish'd

Through winter's long day,
So I turn from the greenwood,
Away, away!"

THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS.

"I desire as I look on these, the ornaments and children of earth, to know whether, indeed, such things I shall see no more?—whether they have no likeness, no archetype in the world in which my future home is to be cast? or whether they have their images above, only wrought in a more wondrous and delightful mould.”. Conversations with an ambitious Student in ill health.

BEAR them not from grassy dells
Where wild bees have honey-cells;
Not from where sweet water-sounds
Thrill the greenwood to its bounds;
Not to waste their scented breath
On the silent room of Death!

Kindred to the breeze they are,
And the glow-worm's emerald star,

And the bird, whose song is free,
And the many-whispering tree:
Oh! too deep a love, and vain,
They would win to earth again.

Spread them not before the eyes,
Closing fast on summer skies!
Woo thou not the spirit back,
From its lone and viewless track,

With the bright things which have birth
Wide o'er all the colour'd earth!

With the violet's breath would rise
Thoughts too sad for her who dies;
From the lily's pearl-cup shed,

Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed;
Dreams of youth-of spring-time eves-
Music-beauty-all she leaves !

Hush! 'tis thou that dreaming art,

Calmer is her gentle heart.

Yes! o'er fountain, vale, and grove,

Leaf and flower, hath gush'd her love;
But that passion, deep and true,
Knows not of a last adieu.

Types of lovelier forms than these,
In their fragile mould she sees;
Shadows of yet richer things,
Born beside immortal springs,
Into fuller glory wrought,
Kindled by surpassing thought!

Therefore, in the lily's leaf,
She can read no word of grief;

O'er the woodbine she can dwell,
Murmuring not-Farewell! farewell!
And her dim, yet speaking eye,
Greets the violet solemnly.

Therefore once, and yet again,
Strew them o'er her bed of pain;
From her chamber take the gloom
With a light and flush of bloom:
So should one depart, who goes
Where no death can touch the rose!

THE IVY-SONG.1

OH! how could fancy crown with thee,
In ancient days, the God of Wine,
And bid thee at the banquet be
Companion of the Vine?

Ivy thy home is where each sound

Of revelry hath long been o'er,

Where song and beaker once went round,
But now are known no more,

Where long-fallen gods recline,

There the place is thine.

This song, as originally written, the reader will have met with in an earlier part of this publication. Being afterwards completely remodelled by Mrs. Hemans, perhaps no apology is requisite for its re-insertion here.