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Methinks, when last I stood upon this shore
With him, in gamesome mood! But he is not!
The waters roll as brightly, and the stars
Beam down upon them with the same pure look
Of love and gentleness: But he is not!

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,
Twelve month's ago?

Gazing on the jewell'd sky,
Pining for wo?

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!

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METHOUGHT 'twas evening, and I stood within

A small green dell, through which a gentle stream
Wound slowly. Upon either bank, there stood
Cypresses, so overgrown with woodbine

And the green running ivy, that they form'd
A lovely bower. And here were seats, not made
By art, but by the plastic hand of Nature.
The earth, beneath my feet, was carpeted
With grass, so beautiful and fresh, it seem'd
A couch spread for the sleep of some fair Naiad,
Weary of sporting in the crystal stream,
Or tripping in the light, fantastic dance

With the fair Druids of the balmy grove.

Around were scatter'd flowers of every hue.
The harebell, modest violet, and rose,

Sweet honeysuckle and the jessamine

Here grew in wild luxuriance, and breath'd
Ambrosial odors on the passing gale.

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—
Shed a wan lustre on the stream beneath,

As the pale rays of Hope fall on the heart-
The withering heart, a moment, and then all
Is dark again—ay, darker than before!

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,

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