uring to form resolutions to resign my
pretensions to the warmer regard of her who was the object of all this
serious solicitude; but neither she herself, nor time and place seemed,
so far as I could see, disposed in the least to aid me in these efforts
of self-control and denial; and, indeed, even at best, I much suspect
that the resolutions of lovers in such cases are only like the little
dams which the rivulet forms in itself by the frail material of stray
grass-piles, and wild-rose leaves, easily overturned by the next slight
impulse that the wave receives. In a ballad called 'Lanazine,' written
somewhat in the old irregular style, sentiments relating to this matter,
a little--and only a little--disguised, are set forth. The following is
a portion of these records, written from time to time for the sake of
preserving to the memory what might once be deeply interesting to the
heart:--

"'O who may love with warm true heart,
And then from love refrain?
Who say 'tis fit we now should part
And never meet again?

"'The heart once broken bleeds no more,
And a deep sound sleep it hath,
Where the stir of pain ne'er travels o'er
The solitude of death.

"'The moon is set, and the star is gone,
And the cure, though cruel, cures,
But the heart left lone must sorrow on,
While the tie of life endures.

"'He had nor gold nor land, and trow'd
Himself unworthy all,
And sternly in his soul had vow'd
His fond love to recall.

"'For her he loved he would not wrong,
Since fate would ne'er agree,
And went to part with a sore, sore heart,
In the bower of the greenwood tree.

"'The dews were deep, and the leaves were green,
And the eve was soft and still;
But strife may reach the vale I ween,
Though no blasts be on the hill.

"'The leaves were green, and the dews were deep,
And the foot was light upon
The grass and flowers, round the bower asleep;
But parting there could be none.

"'He spoke the word with a struggle hard,
And the fair one forward sprung,
Nor ever wist, till like one too blest,
Her arms were round him flung.

"'For the fair one whom he'd woo'd before,
While the chill night breezes sigh'd,
Could wot not why she loved him more
Than ere she thus was tried.

"'A red--not weak--came o'er her cheek,
And she turn'd away