One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting—

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright ray; The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain,

It

may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.

COME O'ER THE SEA.

OME o'er the sea,

Maiden, with me,

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;

"Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thouʼrt not.

Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden, with me,

Come wherever the wild wind blows;

Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same where'er it goes.

Was not the sea

Made for the Free,

Land for courts and chains alone?

Here we are slaves,

But, on the waves,

Love and Liberty's all our own;

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us——
Then come o'er the sea,

Maiden, with me,

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows;
Seasons may roll,

But the true soul

Burns the same, where'er it goes.

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

OME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,

I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this,Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee,—or perish there too!

THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING.

HE time I've lost in wooing,

In watching and pursuing

The light, that lies

In woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me ;

My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,

I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him the sprite,

Whom maids by night

Qft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me;

But while her eyes were on me,

If once their ray

Was turn'd away,

Oh! winds could not outrun me.

RICH and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;