SONG. BY LORD BYRON. I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy nameThere is grief in the sound-there were guilt in the fame; But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thought that dwells in that silence of heart. Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace, Were those hours-can their joy or their bitterness cease? We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain— Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt; And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, With thee by my side, than the world at our feet. One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. BY MISS JEWSBURY. I SAW him on the battle eve, He look'd on ocean,-its broad breast On earth, and saw from east to west While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, He heard the imperial echoes ring- I saw him next alone ;-nor camp, He, who with Heaven contended, 254 THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. He stood,-fleet, army, treasure gone, While wave and wind swept ruthless on, Where late his thousand ships were dark, THE SONG OF PERDITA. THE nest of the dove is rifled- The dream of delight is stifled, Of beauty and hope is broken- Though truest were ever spoken- His words were as fragrant ever As flowers to bees; His voice like the mournful river- Ah! where shall I fly, deceived? I am sick, like the dove bereaved,— STANZAS. BY T. K. HERVEY. SLUMBER lie soft on thy beautiful eye! Spirits whose smiles are-like thine-of the sky, Play thee to sleep with their visionless strings, Brighter than thou-but because they have wings! -Fair as a being of heavenly birth, But loving and loved as a child of the earth! Why is that tear? Art thou gone, in thy dream, song, Flings sweets on the wave, as it wanders along? And now, as I watch o'er thy slumbers, alone, Slumber lie soft on thy beautiful eye! LINES TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER MARRIAGE. BY G. M. FITZGERALD. THEY tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for a bride, That the wreath is woven for thy hair, the bridegroom by thy side; And I think I hear thy father's sigh, thy mother's calmer tone, As they give thee to another's arms-their beautiful their own. I never saw a bridal but my eyelid hath been wet, And it always seem'd to me as though a joyous crowd were met To see the saddest sight of all, a gay and girlish thing Lay aside her maiden gladness-for a name-and for a ring. And other cares will claim thy thoughts, and other hearts thy love, And gayer friends may be around, and bluer skies above; Yet thou, when I behold thee next, may'st wear upon thy brow, Perchance, a mother's look of care, for that which decks it now. And when I think how often I have seen thee, with thy mild And lovely look, and step of air, and bearing like a child, |