And mark the smile, and list the song,
And watch the dancers gliding by,
The fairer still they seem to be,
The more it stirs a thought of thee!

The sad, sweet bells of twilight chime,
Of many hearts may touch but one,
And so this seeming careless rhyme
Will whisper to thy heart alone.
I give it to the winds! The bird,
Let loose, to his far nest will flee,
And love, though breathed but on a word,
Will find thee, over land and sea.

Though clouds across the sky have driven,
We trust the star at last will shine,

And like the very light of heaven

I trust thy love. Trust thou in mine!

ΤΟ

"Oh, by that little word
How many thoughts are stirr'd!—
The last, the last, the last!"

THE star may but a meteor be,

That breaks upon the stormy night;

And I may err, believing thee

A spark of heaven's own changeless light! But if on earth beams aught so fair,

It seems, of all the lights that shine,

Serenest in its truth, 'tis there,

Burning in those soft eyes of thine.

Yet long-watch'd stars from heaven have rush'd,
And long-lov'd friends have dropp'd away,

And mine-my very heart have crush'd!
And I have hop'd this many a day,

It liv'd no more for love or pain!
But thou hast stirr'd its depths again,

And to its dull, out-wearied ear,
Thy voice of melody has crept,

In tones it cannot choose but hear;
And now I feel it only slept,

And know, at ev'n thy lightest smile,
It gathered fire and strength the while.

Fail me not thou! This feeling past,
My heart would never rouse again.
Thou art the brightest but the last!
And if this trust, this love is vain-
If thou, all peerless as thou art,

Be not less fair than true of heart

My loves are o'er ! The sun will shine

Upon no grave so hush'd as this dark breast of mine.

THE CONFESSIONAL.

"When thou hast met with careless hearts and cold, Hearts that young love may touch, but never hold Not changeless, as the loved and left of oldRemember me-remember me

I passionately pray of thee!"

LADY E. S. WORTLEY.

I THOUGHT of thee-I thought of thee,
On ocean many a weary night—
When heaved the long and sullen sea,
With only waves and stars in sight.
We stole along by isles of balm,

We furl'd before the coming gale,

We slept amid the breathless calm,

We flew beneath the straining sail-
But thou wert lost for years to me,
And, day and night I thought of thee!
I thought of thee-I thought of thee,

In France amid the gay saloon,

Where eyes as dark as eyes may be

Are many as the leaves in June— Where life is love, and ev'n the air

Is pregnant with impassion'd thought, And song and dance and music are With one warm meaning only fraughtMy half-snar'd heart broke lightly free, And with a blush I thought of thee!

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Florence, where the fiery hearts
Of Italy are breathed away

In wonders of the deathless arts;
Where strays the Contadina down

Val d'Arno with song of old;

Where clime and women seldom frown,
And life runs over sands of gold;

I stray'd to lone Fiesolé

On many an eve, and thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Rome, when on the Palatine
Night left the Cæsar's palace free