To Time's forgetful foot and mine; Or, on the Coliseum's wall, When moonlight touch'd the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all That o'er this scene has come and goneThe shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Where nobles born the friars be, By life's rude changes humbler made. Here Milton fram'd his Paradise; I slept within his very cell; And, as I clos'd my weary eyes, I thought the cowl would fit me wellThe cloisters breath'd, it seemed to me, Of heart's-ease-but I thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Like dust of silver slept the moon. Slow turn'd his oar the gondolier, And, as the black barks glided by, Bore back the lover's passing sigh- I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Old Homer's songs around me playing ; I listened to the helmsman Greek, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, In Greece-when rose the Parthenon Majestic o'er the Egean sea, And heroes with it, one by one; When, in the grove of Academe, Where Lais and Leontium stray'd I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Where swiftly as the waters flee, Each wave some sweet old story tells; And, seated by the marble tank Which sleeps by Ilium's ruins old, I thrill'd such classic haunts to see, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, *In the Scamander,-before contending for the prize of beauty on Mount Ida. Its head waters fill a beautiful tank near the walls of Troy. And ever on its shores the daughters Of the delicious East are seen, Printing the brink with slipper'd feet, And oh, the snowy folds between, What eyes of heaven your glances meet! Peris of light no fairer be— Yet-in Stamboul-I thought of thee. I've thought of thee-I've thought of thee, Through change that teaches to forget; Thy face looks up from every sea, In every star thine eyes are set, Though roving beneath Orient skies, Whose golden beauty breathes of rest, I envy every bird that flies Into the far and clouded West: I think of thee-I think of thee! Oh, dearest! hast thou thought of me? LINES ON LEAVING EUROPE. BRIGHT flag at yonder tapering mast! And point as Freedom's eagle flew! Strain home! oh lithe and quivering spars! Point home, my country's flag of stars! The wind blows fair! the vessel feels And, swiftest of a thousand keels, She leaps to the careering seas! Oh, fair, fair cloud of snowy sail, In whose white breast I seem to lie, How oft, when blew this eastern gale, I've seen your semblance in the sky, |