rom that slumber again.

LAMENT.

My soul is sad--oh! dark to-night,
'Tis wrapt in midnight's gloom;
Wild minstrel! seize thy harp and sing,
As o'er the victor tomb.

For thoughts, more beautiful than dreams,
Within my soul have died,
As fade away the glorious tints
From heaven, at even-tide.

Wild minstrel! seize thy harp, I pray,
And let a dirge arise
In frantic woe--then faintly die
Amid the nightwind's sighs.

The saddest--deepest--wildest strain
Should wail such visions o'er;
Within the mournful Past entombed,
To be awaked no more.

OH, LOVE! THE DEW LIES ON THE FLOWER.

Oh, love! the dew lies on the flower,
And the stars gleam on the sea;
It is the charm'd, the silent hour,
When I should roam with thee.
The day dies out within the West,
The shadows gather near;
And now sweet fancies fill my breast,
And thou art strangely dear.

Behold! as yonder heavenly moon,
Breaks through the dark-blue sky,
And through night's deepest, stillest noon,
That brightness will supply--
Thy smile thus sheds its heavenly light
Athwart life's deepest gloom,--
Thus brightly gilds the spirit's night
Its gentle beams illume.

RED ROSE.

Sweet rose! ere Ellen gathered thee
From off thy parent stem,
With hope to rival her sweet cheek,
Thou wast a floral gem.
But when I think her snow-white hands,
Did pluck thee, rose! for me,
The brightest gems of earth or sky,
Are naught compared with thee.
How fondly even for hours I gaze
Upon thy charms so rare,
Thy tint of richest, purest red,
Thy fragrant petals fair.
Sweet rose! my Ellen's pledge of love,
Thou fairest thing of earth,
Save darling Ellen's angel self,--
Words cannot speak thy worth.
To token faintly to her soul,
How prized by me thou art,
My trembling hand has placed thee here
Beside my throbbing heart.

ELLEN.

Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,
And still I can but sigh,
Whene'er I view thy semblance shine
In Memory's mirror nigh.

Thy brow so soft--thy cheek so fair--
Thy looks so sweetly mild--
Thy angel air--thy angel smile,
My spirit have beguiled.

Ellen, my heart is not yet thine,
But oft my fancy dreams--
When evening's peaceful shades decline
Along our mountain streams.

Yes! oft my tranced fancy sees,
Mid evening's deepening shade,
Thy airy form--and, in the breeze,
Thy voice I hear, sweet maid!

Oh! Ellen! may yon heavens smile,