And reads-while he kneels

All his ardour to speak,

Her reply, as it steals,

In a blush, o'er her cheek!

Till-won by the prayers
Which so softly reprove,—
On his bosom, in tears,

She half murmurs her love;

And the stifled confession

Enraptured he sips,

'Mid the breathings of passion,

In dew, from her lips!

FORGET ME NOT!

FORGET me not-forget me not!
But let these little simple flowers
Remind thee of his lonely lot,

Who loved thee in life's purer hours,—
When hearts and hopes were hallowed things,

Ere pleasure broke the lyre she brought;

Then oh! when shivered all its strings,

Forget me not-forget me not!

We met, ere yet the world had come

To wither up the springs of truth,
Amid the holy joys of home,

And in the first warm blush of youth ;-—

We parted, as they never part

Whose tears are doomed to be forgot,

Oh! by that agony of heart,

Forget me not-forget me not!

Thine eye must watch these flowerets fade,

Thy soul its idols melt away,

But oh! when friends and flower lie dead,

Love may embalm them in decay;

And, when thy spirit sighs along

The shadowy scenes of hoarded thought, Oh! listen to its pleading song,—

Forget me not-forget me not!

SERENADE.

"TIS LOVE'S OWN HOUR!

'Tis love's own hour!-for the gentle moon
Has girdled herself in her silver zone,
And wandered forth, where the winds are still,
To her shepherd's home, on the dewy hill,-
And the lily bows, with a sigh more sweet,
Beneath the touch of the huntress' feet!

And the voiceless tale of the visionless breeze Is told, in sighs, to the jasmine trees !—

And the zephyr woos the lake to bliss,

And kisses the stream, with a lover's kiss!— And the stars look light on the blue-deep sea, Whose waves reflect it, slumberingly!

And, far in the quiet grove away,
The night bird utters his lonely lay;
And viewless echo repeats the tale
To his lady-love, in her distant vale;
And the rose looks up, with a tearful eye,
And lists to its music, silently!

And the gossamer weaves, in the holy light,
His scarce seen web,—like a far delight,—
A curtain hung 'twixt earth and sky,
As fair and frail as a phantasy!

And myriad forms, in the moonbeam pale,

Dance, in the maze of the mystic veil!