The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise,
Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I look'd too long,
And if my love is sin,

Death follows on the heels of wrong,
And kills the crime within.

Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,

O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,
But hoddan grey is mine;

And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter'd princes stand,

But

may

he wear my love at heart

That wins her lily hand!

Alas! there's far from russet frize

To silks and satin gowns,

But I doubt if God made like degrees, In courtly hearts and clowns.

My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame,

And all that's lordly of my birth,
Is my reproach and shame!

'Tis vain to weep,-'tis vain to sigh, 'Tis vain this idle speech,

For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach;
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say of what has been,

His love was nobly born and died,
Tho' all the rest was mean!

My speech is rude,-but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,

So, Lady, fare thee well;

I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.

THE WATER LADY.

ALAS, the moon should ever beam

To show what man should never see !-
I saw a maiden on a stream,
And fair was she!

I staid awhile, to see her throw
Her tresses back, that all beset
The fair horizon of her brow
With clouds of jet.

I staid a little while to view

Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.

I staid to watch, a little space,
Her parted lips if she would sing ;

The waters closed above her face
With many a ring.

And still I stay'd a little more,
Alas! she never comes again;

I throw my flow'rs from the shore,
And watch in vain.

I know my life will fade away,
I know that I must vainly pine,
For I am made of mortal clay,
But she's divine!

M 2

THE EXILE.

THE Swallow with summer

Will wing o'er the seas,
The wind that I sigh to
Will visit thy trees,
The ship that it hastens
Thy ports will contain,
But me-I must never
See England again?

There's many that weep there,
But one weeps alone,

For the tears that are falling
So far from her own;
So far from thy own, love,
We know not our pain;
If death is between us,
Or only the main.

When the white cloud reclines

On the verge of the sea,

I fancy the white cliffs,

And dream upon thee; But the cloud spreads its wings To the blue heav'n and flies. We shall never meet, love,

Except in the skies!

TO AN ABSENTEE.

O'ER hill, and dale, and distant sea, Through all the miles that stretch between, My thought must fly to rest on thee,

And would, though worlds should intervene.

Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks
The farther we are forc'd apart,
Affection's firm elastic links

But bind the closer round the heart.

For now we sever each from each,
I learn what I have lost in thee;
Alas, that nothing less could teach,
How great indeed my love should be!

Farewell! I did not know thy worth,
But thou art gone, and now 'tis priz❜d :
So angels walk'd unknown on earth,
But when they flew were recogniz'd!