STANZAS.

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FAREWELL Life! my senses swim,
And the world is growing dim:
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night—
Colder, colder, colder still,
Upward steals a vapor chill;
Strong the earthy odor grows
I smell the mould above the rose!

Welcome Life! the Spirit strives!
Strength returns and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn,-
O'er the earth there comes a bloom;
Sunny light for sullen gloom,
Warm perfume for vapor cold-
I smell the rose above the mould!

April, 1845.

TO A FALSE FRIEND.

OUR hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again.
Friends, if we have ever been,

Friends we cannot now remain :
I only know I lov'd you once,

I only know I lov'd in vain ;

Our hands have met, but not our hearts; Our hands will never meet again!

Then farewell to heart and hand!
I would our hands had never met:
Even the outward form of love
Must be resign'd with some regret.
Friends, we still might seem to be,
If my wrong could e'er forget

Our hands have join'd but not our hearts :
I would our hands had never met!

THE POET'S PORTION.

WHAT is mine-a treasury—a dower— A magic talisman of mighty power? A poet's wide possession of the earth. He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth Before its budding-ere the first red streaks,And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. Look-if his dawn be not as other men's! Twenty bright flushes-tre another kens The first of sunlight is abroad-he sees Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees, And opes the splendid fissures of the morn. When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf Is commonly abroad, in his pil'd sheaf The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, Bnt he will sip it first-before the lees. 'Tis his to taste rich honey,-ere the bees Are busy with the brooms. He may forestall June's rosy advent for his coronal; Before th' expectant buds upon the bough, Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. Oh! blest to see the flower in its seed, Before its leafy presence; for indeed

Leaves are but wings, on which the summer flies,
And each thing perishable fades and dies,

Escap'd in thought; but his rich thinkings be
Like overflows of immortality.

So that what there is steep'd shall perish never,

But live and bloom, and be a joy for ever.

TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY.

I HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring,
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:
"Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,
Only for looks that may turn back on me ;

Only for roses that your chance may throw-
Though wither'd-I will wear them on my brow,
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain;
Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again.

Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,
Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind;
But trust not all her fondness though it seem,
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.

Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet;
But smiles betray, and music sings deceit ;
And words speak false;-yet, if they welcome prove,
I'll be their echo, and repeat their love.

Only if waken'd to sad truth at last,
The bitterness to come, and sweetness past;
When thou art vext, then, turn again, and see
Thou hast lov'd Hope, but Memory lov'd thee."