feel
Through many a weary day;
And I will then forgive thy fault,
In lingering thus away.

OH, BLUE-EYED MAID, I SIGH FOR THEE.

Oh! blue-eyed maid, I sigh for thee,
A gentle twilight's close,
When music dies upon the lea,
And dew drops wet the rose.
I look on tranquil nature round,
And list to music's fall,
And think but half their charms are found,
Since thou art far from all.

Oh, blue-eyed maid! the gorgeous beams
That light a monarch's hall,
The glittering wealth of golden streams,
To me were darkness all;
Unless thy light of loveliness,
Adorned the regal scene,
And thou bedecked in royal dress,
Shouldst reign my loving Queen.

TO MARY.

Oh, Mary, when afar from thee,
And mountains rise between,
And I am wandering pensively
Through many a varied scene;

It soothes to bid my fancy stray,
On freest wings, to thee,
And cherish all the memories
So very dear to me.

I view again thy face, thy form,
Thy look, thy ready smile,
I hear again those magic words,
That all my soul beguile.

I sit beside thy chair, and gaze,
Upon thy willing face,
And there behold the speaking glow
Of that mysterious grace,

Which binds my constant soul to thee,
And makes, through all life's years,
All that can make thy heart rejoice,
Or bathe thy cheek with tears,

Awake in me the thrill of joy,
Or bow my soul in grief;
And makes me strive to make thee blest,
Or yield thy pangs relief.

Yes, Mary, I will love but thee,
Of all thy lovely race;
Our hearts shall find in life one home,
In death one resting place.

And, if I linger now afar,
'Tis fortune's hard decree--
Oh! were the dove's swift pinions mine,
How would I fly to thee.

Those charms, with memory's feeble light
On me would cease to beam;
Their rays, with present, perfect warmth,
Upon my heart would gleam.

Thus, by thy side, so sweetly near,
How blest to pass my life;
To press thy gentle hand in mine,
And call thee my sweet wife.

If Adam lost his happiness,
Bewailed with ceaseless sighs,
With thee, my Eve, I scarce could wish
Another Paradise.

THOUGH THOU WAST PASSING FAIR.

Though thou wast passing fair,
And wondrous beauty crown'd thee,
And Fancy's robe most rare,
Forever brightly bound thee:

I could not teach my heart,
To bow in love before thee,
Nor bid the death depart,
Which now hangs darkly o'er thee.

I know a hectic flush