hee from ill!
My heart is hovering round thy dwelling-place,
Good night, dear love! God bless thee with his grace!

Good night, love!
Soft lullabies the night-wind sing to thee!
And on its wings sweet odours bring to thee!
And in thy dreaming
May all things dear,
With gentle seeming,
Come smiling near!
My knees are bowed, my hands are clasped in prayer--
Good night, dear love! God keep thee in his care!

THE DEATH-SONG.

Mother, mother! my heart is wild,
Hold me upon your bosom dear,
Do not frown on your own poor child,
Death is darkly drawing near.

Mother, mother! the bitter shame
Eats into my very soul;
And longing love, like a wrapping flame,
Burns me away without control.

Mother, mother! upon my brow
The clammy death-sweats coldly rise;
How dim and strange your features grow
Through the hot mist that veils my eyes!

Mother, mother! sing me the song
They sing on sunny August eves,
The rustling barley-fields along,
Binding up the ripe, red sheaves.

Mother, mother! I do not hear
Your voice--but his,--oh, guard me well!
His breathing makes me faint with fear,
His clasping arms are round me still.

Mother, mother! unbind my vest,
Upon my heart lies his first token:
Now lay me in my narrow nest,
Your withered blossom, crushed and broken.

IMPROMPTU.

You say you're glad I write--oh, say not so!
My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well;
And when the numbers freely from it flow,
'Tis that my heart, and eyes, o'erflow as well.

Castalia, fam'd of yore,--the spring divine,
Apollo's smile upon its current wears:
Moore and Anacreon, found its waves were wine,
To me, it flows a sullen stream of tears.

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING WEST POINT.

The hours are past, love,
Oh, fled they not too fast, love!
Those happy hours, when down the mountain side,
We saw the rosy mists of morning glide,
And, hand in hand, went forth upon our way,
Full of young life and hope, to meet the day.

The hours are past, love,
Oh, fled they not too fast, love!
Those sunny hours, when from the mid-day heat,
We sought the waterfall with loitering feet,
And o'er the rocks that lock the gleaming pool,
Crept down into its depths, so dark and cool.

The hours are past, love,
Oh, fled they not too fast, love!
Those solemn hours, when through the violet sky,
Alike without a cloud, without a ray