The rose is a flower

That blooms but an hour,

And wantons awhile with the breeze and the sun-
Its beauty soon blasted,

Its sweetness exhausted,

All sun-burnt and breeze-torn, it withers alone;
But the sun hath no power

On the chaste little flower,

That lists to the stream-voice from morning till night, No rude breeze comes hither,

Its freshness to wither,

Or touch the fair Lily of Leven with blight.

Soft, soft its repose

Where the Tees gently flows

With murmuring delight to its mother, the Ocean, No worldly unrest

Ever visits the breast

Of the Lily that looks on its music-like motion.
Go seek, far away,

'Neath the shadowless ray

That lights up the face of an eastern-bright heaven, From Love's sweetest bowers

Bring hither the flowers,

And match, if you can, the fair Lily of Leven.

IV.-COME TO ME.

Come to me, when the light of joy
Is beaming brightly in thy eyes;
Come, when the smile is on thy face,
And sorrow from thy presence flies.
OI will near thee hover,

And all thy happy moments share,
Like some enraptured lover,

That dreams and doats on lady fair.

Come to me, when thy heart is full
Of sorrow thou wouldst fain dispel ;
Come, when thy spirit keenly feels
Its grief too deep for tongue to tell.
OI will soothe thy sadness

And from thy bosom take the sting
With honied words of gladness,

Such as love to love can bring.

Come to me, when the world hath lost
Its madd'ning hold upon thy heart,
Come, when all its glittering stars
Like Hope's delusive lights depart.
OI still true will be, love,

Though false and fickle all may seem, My thoughts will flow to thee, love, Like streamlet to its native stream.

V.—I'LL COME TO THEE.

I'll come to thee, when my spirit seeks
A kindred one, its joys to share,
And teach thee how affection speaks
From hearts untouched by lightest care.
Too cold may seem the love I deem

To shew thee 'mid the soulless throng; Love needs disguise, when watchful eyes Are gazing as we pass along.

I'll come to thee, when the shadow falls
Upon the sunlight of my youth;
For every word of thine recals

The memory of all thy truth.
Then this believe, whene'er I grieve
My heart will fondly turn to thee,

And all I feel it will reveal,

Nor longer droop despondently.

I'll come to thee, when old friends forsake
The circle they so oft have met;
Though each a last farewell may take,
And, long estranged, their love forget,
I still will find one bosom kind,

To beat responsive, true to mine,
And time shall prove how much I love,
When I my fate have bound with thine.

VI.-The DREAM IS O'ER.

The dream is o'er-the vision's past-
Oh! fondly, madly, I believed
Thy heart was mine-but wake, at last,
To find how deeply I'm deceived.
Yet think me not the passive thing

That brooks such change of truth unmoved; This bosom feels the silent sting,

And tells how truly I have loved.

I deemed not, when thine eyes were bright
As stars that burn in heaven above,
That falsehood lurked beneath the light
Which seemed to beam with earnest love.

Smile on, as the unmeaning smile,

Let others feel thy deadly power:

But beauty only blooms awhile,

Then withers like the blighted flower.

The time will come, when after

years
Have left a shade upon thy brow,
Thy boasted smiles may turn to tears,
Thy soul rebel as mine does now.
Thou, too, mayst feel the bitter pang,
Thy heart, like mine, with anguish move,
When once thy dream of passion's gone,
And some gay trifler scorns thy love.

U

VII.-DEEM NOT THAT LOVE.

Deem not that Love is a shadowy thought,
Whose raptures too quickly depart-
A ray o'er the Memory that fleeting will float,
Then leave but a gloom on the heart :
A vision that flits o'er the soul in a dream,
And fades like a Spring-woven wreath;
cup that contains only sweets at the brim,
While hemlock is lurking beneath.

A

For Love's the elixir that brightens despair,
Sip, sip of its sweets while you may;

Though to-morrow we banquet with old wrinkled Care,
Let us feast on the joys of to-day.

Then wreathe ye the goblet with Summer's bright flowers,
They are types of the beauty before us :

For WOMAN's the Sun, in this bright world of ours,
We'll worship till darkness comes o'er us.

VIII. THE BRIGHTER LAND.

I've dwelt beneath a brighter sky,

A lovelier land afar

Yet fickle, false, and changeable
Its blue-eyed maidens are.
It is not there that love endures,
Alike through change and time;
Love's home is here-it nestles in
Our own sweet native isle.

"Tis like the bird that lingers round
Our homes in winter hours;

It leaves us not-though dark and drear
Misfortune's tempest lowers.
Dream not of other lands-nor seek
The light of other eyes;

One soul of truth is stedfast yet—
One heart in secret sighs.

IX.-JESSY WHITE.

Know you a maid whose glossy curl
Can match the raven's darkest feather,
Whose cheek so vermile, brow so fair,
The rose and lily blend together;
Whose lip is of temptation's hue,

With beaming eye, supremely bright : O eye and lip, and cheek and brow, Belong to gentle Jessy White.

Know you the maid whose voice is sweet
As fabled Andalusian lute,

Whose mind is pure as chrystal streams
That from the mountain summit shoot;
Whose heart is tender, loving, kind,
With soul as soft as sunset light:
O voice and mind, and heart and soul,
Are all the gifts of Jessy White.

X.-SMILES AND TEARS.

Memory brings both smiles and tears,
Light, light and darkness, too;
Smiles, the light of other years,

Tears, the darkness now.
Flowers but bloom to fade away,
Types of joy and sorrow;
The rose so beautiful to-day,
May wither by to-morrow.

Remember but the smiles of light,
Forget, forget the tears;

Nor sigh because the gloom of night,
When daylight sets, appears :
For joy would not be half so sweet
Without some touch of sorrow;
Then bide to-day the storm you meet
And hope for calm to-morrow.