In mournful murmurs, o'er mine ear

Remembered echos seem to roll,

.

And sounds I never more can hear,
Make music in my lonely soul!

That swell again!-now, full and high,
The tide of feeling flows along,

And many a thought that claims a sigh
Seems mingling with thy magic song!

The forms I loved-and loved in vain,
The hopes I nursed-to see them die,
With fleeting brightness, through my brain,

In phantom beauty, wander by!

Then touch the lyre, my own dear love!— My soul is like a troubled sea,

And turns from all below-above,

In fondness, to the harp and thee!

SERENADE.

OH! COME AT THIS HOUR, LOVE!-THE DAYLIGHT IS GONE.

Oh! come at this hour, love!--the daylight is gone,
And the heavens weep dew on the flowers;

And the spirit of loneliness steals, with a moan,
Through the shade of the eglantine bowers :-

For, the moon is asleep on her pillow of clouds,
And her curtain is drawn in the sky;

And the gale, as it wantons along the young buds,
Falls faint on the ear-like a sigh!

The summer-day sun is too gaudy and bright

For a heart that has suffered like mine;

And methinks, there were pain, in the noon of its light, To a spirit so broken as thine!

The birds-as they mingled their music of joy,-

And the roses that smiled in the beam,

Would but tell us of feelings for ever gone by,

And of hopes that have passed like a dream!

And the moonlight-pale spirit!—would speak of the

time

When we wandered beneath its soft gleam,

Along the green meadows, when life was in prime,

And worshipped its face in the stream ;—

When our hopes were as sweet, and our life-path as

bright,

And as cloudless, to fancy's young eye,

As the star-spangled course of that phantom of light,

Along the blue depths of the sky!

Then come in this hour, love!-when twilight has hung

Its shadowy mantle around,

And no sound, save the murmurs that breathe from thy

tongue,

Or thy footfall-scarce heard on the ground!-
Shall steal on the silence, to waken a fear,-
When the sun that is gone, with its heat,
Has left on the cheek of all nature a tear,-
Then, hearts that are broken should meet !

N

THE GONDOLA GLIDES.

THE gondola glides-
Like a spirit of night,—
O'er the slumbering tides,
In the calm moonlight!
The star of the north
Shows her golden eye,-
But a brighter looks forth
From yon lattice, on high!