On thy sweet cheek is burning,
That thou dost stilly hush
Thy wrung heart's deepest yearning.

I know that in thy breast,
A serpent closely lurking,
Forbids thee e'er to rest,
Thy utter ruin working.

When, in the chilly ground,
Thy lovely form lies sleeping,
Where vi'lets spring around,
And purest dews are weeping:

Thy sinless soul ascending
Above this dreary sod,
Shall feel its being blending
In deathless love with God.

THE LADY'S SOLILOQUY.

Ah! now I am beloved by him,
And sweet it is, to think,
That life no more will be so dim,
To make my spirit sink.

Ah! now I am beloved by him;
The secret I will keep;
In silence to the mantling brim,
I'll quaff this cup so deep.

Beloved by him! beloved by him!
How dear the tender thought!
My eyes in happy tears do swim,
My heart with bliss is fraught.

Beloved by him--that noble youth!
With proud yet gentle mien,
Who speaks the guileless words of truth,
And yet is not so "green."

Beloved by him--ah! I shall own
A husband very soon;
And he shall kneel before my throne,
With many a costly boon,

The plate, the gold, the proud array
Of horses, charioteers;--
And when comes round the paying day,
I'll kiss him in arrears!

LOVE WITHOUT HOPE.

I cannot cease to love thee,
Coldest fair!
Though pleading cannot move thee,
And I despair.

Thy beauty was diviner,
Than the summer moon,
And thou didst outshine her,
At her noon.

Thy brow was like the silver
On the star-lit sea;
Thy bright eyes did bewilder
All, as me.

Thy motions were the motions
Of a charmed bird,
As, poised o'er dream-world oceans,
His sweet voice is heard.

Thou wast queenlier far
Than the queenliest flower,
More glorious than a star
In a fairy bower.

But it can not move thee,
My mad prayer!
Though I must ever love thee,
Coldest fair!

TO MARY.

Dear Mary, if my heart has hushed awhile,
Its loving voice within my breast--yet there,
Thine image was enshrined the dearest thing,
Which now remains to me in this sad world.
Thou bad'st me sing a song of thee, and said'st,
That I should make thee to my dreamy thought,
Whoe'er I would, and I will make thee be,
A fair and gentle friend--a lovely one--
Ah yes, the nearest, tenderest of all friends.
Sweet Mary, dost thou read my thought?
Who will be all in all to me on earth,
Sheathing my soul against the edge of pain,
Even till I