YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM.

ES, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er,
He'll turn into friendship that feels no decay;
And though Time may take from him the wings
he once wore,

The charms that remain will be bright as before,
And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away.

Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay,

That Friendship our last happy moments will crown: Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away, While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down.

WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

HEN midst the gay I meet

That gentle smile of thine,

Though still on me it turns most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine:

But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,

Oh, then I feel those tears my own,

And claim them while they flow.

Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile in many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe'er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray,

Whose touch is fire, appears,
Oh, then the smile is warm'd away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

'TIS ALL FOR THEE.

F life for me hath joy or light,

"Tis all from thee;

My thoughts by day, my dreams by night,
Are but of thee, of only thee.
Whate'er of hope or peace I know,
My zest in joy, my balm in woe,
To those dear eyes of thine I owe,
'Tis all from thee.

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those

Seem'd doom'd to thee;

eyes,

Kept pure till then from other ties,

'Twas all for thee, for only thee.

Like plants that sleep till sunny May
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay,
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray,

It lived for thee, it lived for thee.

When Fame would call me to her heights,
She speaks by thee;

And dim would shine her proudest lights,
Unshared by thee, unshared by thee.

Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine,

Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine,
And wish those wreaths of glory mine,
'Tis all for thee, for only thee.

SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.

'VE been, oh, sweet daughter,

To fountain and sea,

To seek in their water

Some bright gem for thee.
Where diamonds were sleeping,
Their sparkle I sought;
Where crystal was weeping.

Its tears I have caught.

M

ARCH! nor heed those arms that hold thee,

Though so fondly close they come ;

Closer still will they enfold thee,

When thou bring'st fresh laurels home.