Far from the weak, appealing cries
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping.

She hopes, she fears—a light is seen,
And gentler blows the night-wind's breath;
Yet no-
-'tis gone—the storms are keen,

The baby may be chill'd to death!

Perhaps his little eyes are shaded

Dim by Death's eternal chill-
And yet, perhaps, they are not faded ;
Life and love may light them still.

Thus, when my soul with parting sigh,
Hung on thy hand's bewildering touch,
And, timid, ask'd that speaking eye,

If parting pain'd thee half so much :

I thought, and, oh! forgive the thought,
For who, by eyes like thine inspired,
Could e'er resist the flattering fault

Of fancying what his soul desired?

Yes-I did think, in CARA's mind,

Though yet to CARA'S mind unknown,

I left one infant wish behind,

One feeling, which I call'd my

own

n!

Oh blest! though but in fancy blest,
How did I ask of pity's care,

To shield and strengthen in thy breast
The nursling I had cradled there.

And, many an hour beguiled by pleasure,
And many an hour of sorrow numbering,
I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure
I left within thy bosom slumbering.

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it,
Haply, it yet a throb may give-
Yet no-perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it !
Oh, CARA!-does the infant live?

TO CARA,

ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY.

WHEN midnight came to close the year, We sigh'd to think it thus should take The hours it gave us-hours as dear

As sympathy and love could make Their blessed moments! every sun Saw us, my love, more closely one!

But, CARA, when the dawn was nigh

Which came another year to shed, The smile we caught from eye to eye

Told us those moments were not fled;

Oh no!-we felt, some future sun
Should see us still more closely one!

Thus may we ever, side by side,
From happy years to happier glide;
And still, my CARA, may the sigh

We give to hours that vanish o'er us,
Be follow'd by the smiling eye

That Hope shall shed on scenes before us!

TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL.*

THEY try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, That you are not a daughter of ether and light, Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your breast

As mortal as ever were tasted or press'd!

* This and the subsequent poem have appeared in the public prints.

But I will not believe them-no, Science! to you
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu :
Still flying from Nature to study her laws,
And dulling delight by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior, for mortals below,
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they
know.

Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;
How rays are confused, or how particles fly

Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh! Is there one, who but once would not rather have known it,

Than written, with HARVEY, whole volumes upon it?
No, no-but for you, my invisible love,

I will swear you are one of those spirits that rove
By the bank where at twilight the poet reclines,
When the star of the west on his solitude shines,
And the magical fingers of Fancy have hung
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue!
Oh! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone;
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between,
His song to the world let him utter unseen,

And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
To have you for ever invisibly nigh,

Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh !
'Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs

of care,

I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air,

And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew, To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.

Oh! come and be near me, for ever be mine,
We shall hold in the air a communion divine,
As sweet as, of old, was imagined to dwell
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell.

And oft, at those lingering moments of night,

When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is light,

You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love,
Such as angel to angel might whisper above!
Oh spirit!—and then, could you borrow the tone
Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known,