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And the light forsook thine eye, And thy head sank heavily ; Was that drooping but th’ excess Of thy spirit's blessedness? Or did some deep feeling's might, Folded in thy heart from sight, With a sudden tempest shower Earthward bear thy life's young flower ? -Who shall tell us ?-on thy tongue Silence, and for ever, hung ! Never to thy lip and cheek Rush'd again the crimson streak, Never to thine eye return'd That which there have beam'd and burn'd With the secret none might know, With thy rapture or thy woe, With thy marriage robe and wreath, Thou wert fled-Young Bride of Death! One, one lightning-moment there, Struck down Triumph to Despair, Beauty, Splendour, Hope, and Trust, Into Darkness, Terror-Dust!

There were sounds of weeping o'er thee,
Bride! as forth thy kindred bore thee,
Shrouded in thy gleaming veil,
Deaf to that wild funeral wail
-Yet perchance a chastening thought
In some deeper spirit wrought,
Whispering, while the stern sad knell
On the air's bright stillness fell,

-“ From the power of chill and change, Souls to sever and estrange; From Love's wane-a death in life, But to watch a mortal strife ; From the secret fevers, known To the burden'd heart alone; Thou art fled-afar-away, Where those blights no more have sway! Bright one! oh, there well may be Comfort 'midst our tears for thee!"

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

BYRON.

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee;
And, like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me,
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming :

And the midnight moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep,
Wbose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep!-
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee,
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

I DO NOT LOVE THEE.

MISS SHERIDAN.

I do not love thee!--no! I do not love thee! And yet when thou art absent I am sad ;

And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

I do not love thee !-yet, I know not why, Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me

And often in my solitude I sigh-
That those I do love are not more like thee!

I do not love thee!--yet, when thou art gone, I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear)

Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

I do not love thee 1-yet thy speaking eyes, With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue

Between me and the midnight heaven arise, Oftener than any eyes I ever knew.

I know I do not love thee 1-yet, alas ! Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;

And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, Because they see me gazing where thou art.

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.

MRS. HEMANS.

From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world, unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,

Answer me, answer me!

Have we not communed here, of life and death ?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,
Was not to perish, as a rose's breath,
To melt away, like song from festal bowers ?

Answer, oh! answer me!

Thine eye's last light was mine—the soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze; Didst thou bear with thee, to the shore unknown, Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze ?

Hear, hear, and answer me !

Thy voice-its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife,
Like a faint breeze :-oh! from that music flown
Send back one sound, if love's be quenchless life!

But once, ohl answer me.

In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep ;
When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush,
Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep;

Spirit! then answer me.

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thy speaking eyes

ad most expressive b

dnight heaven arise wer knew.

dieelyet, alas!

any candid heart; miling as they pass, ing where thou art.

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