atoned the delay.

I fear'd not, too slow of belief--
I fear'd not, too proud of thy heart,
That another would steal on the hour of thy grief,
That thy grief would be soft to his art.

Thou heardst--and how easy allured,
Every vow of the past to forsware;
The love, which for thee would all pangs have endured,
Thou couldst smile, as thou gav'st to despair.

Ah, think not my passion has flown!
Why say that my vows now are free?
Why say--yes! I feel that my heart is my own;
I feel it is breaking for thee.

THE LUTE.

Ah! do not bid me wake the lute,
It once was dear to Henry's ear.
Now be its voice for ever mute,
The voice which Henry ne'er can hear.

Though many a month has pass'd since Spring,
His grave's wan turf has bloom'd anew,
One whisper of those chords would bring,
In all its grief, our last adieu.

The songs he loved--'twere sure profane
To careless Pleasure's laughing brow
To breathe; and oh! what other strain
To Henry's lute could love allow?

Though not a sound thy soul hath caught,
To mine it looks, thus softly dead,
A sweeter tenderness of thought
Than all its living strings have shed.

Then ask me not--the charm was broke;
With each loved vision must I part;
If gay to every ear it spoke,
'Twould speak no longer to my heart.

Yet once too blest!--the moonlit grot,
Where last I gave its tones to swell;
Ah! the _last_ tones--thou heardst them not--
From other hands than mine they fell.

Still, silent slumbering, let it keep
That sacred touch! And oh! as dim
To life, would, would that I could sleep,
Could sleep, and only dream of _him_!

WILLIAM CHALMERS.

William Chalmers was born at Paisley in 1779. He carried on the business
of a tobacconist and grocer in his native town, and for a period enjoyed
considerable prosperity. Unfortunate reverses caused him afterwards to
abandon merchandise, and engage in a variety of occupations. At
different times he sought employment as a dentist, a drysalter, and a
book distributor; he sold small stationery as a travelling merchant, and
ultimately became keeper of the refreshment booth at the Paisley railway
station. He died at Paisley on the 3d of November 1843. Chalmers wrote
respectable verses on a number of subjects, but his muse wa