Methinks, when last I stood upon this shore Hark! whence that soft, that wondrous voice!' Is not? He liveth still! and hath become a part Of that which he adored!'-Then let me hush These strains, and like the Thracian, 17 rather joy That he is free from the cold bonds of clay, Which chain the lofty spirit down to earth. THE LOVER'S REFRAIN. O WHERE was I, where was I, Gazing on the jewell'd sky, Wandering, as now, alone, Sadly and slow, Listening to the night-bird's moan, Twelve months ago? Sitting in a lady's bower, Twelve months ago, Gazing on a human flower, Stainless as snow; Mingling vows of endless love, Thoughtless of wo, Happier than saint above, Twelve months ago! Where is now the bliss I knew Twelve months ago? Where the maid I deem'd so true? Gone-gone! I trow. I will heed no more Love's tone, By my troth! no! Would that I had never known Twelve months ago! METHOUGHT 'twas evening, and I stood within A small green dell, through which a gentle stream And the green running ivy, that they form'd With the fair Druids of the balmy grove. Around were scatter'd flowers of every hue. Sweet honeysuckle and the jessamine Here grew in wild luxuriance, and breath'd The birds, that all day long had pour'd their songs Of innocence, were silent now, save one, The plaintive whip-poor-will, whose touching note Anon rose from a neighboring hedge, It was A scene for thought and meditation form'd, Through the small crevices above, the Moon, Now beaming, and now veil'd by some thin cloud— As the pale rays of Hope fall on the heart- Lo! suddenly, before me stood a youth!— A youth, whose years were few; but thought and care, And misery had cast upon his brow Their blight; and these alone, in one short day, |