LORD IVON.

Yes-and I heard the cry

Of thy small "piping mouth" as 'twere a call
From my remembering star. I waited only
Thy mother's strength to bear the common shock
Of death within the doors. She rose at last,
And, oh! so sweetly pale! And thou, my child!
My heart misgave me as I looked upon thee;
But he was ever at her side whose name
She murmur'd in her sleep; and, lingering on
To drink a little of thy sweetness more
Before I died, I watched their stolen love
As she had been my daughter, with a pure,
Passionless joy that I should leave her soon
To love him as she would. I know not how
To tell thee more.

Come, sweet! she is not worthy

Of tears like thine and mine.

She fled and left me

The very night! The poison was prepared

And she had been a widow with the morn

52

LORD IVON AND HIS DAUGHTER.

Rich as Golconda. As the midnight chimed
My star rose. Gazing on its mounting orb,
I raised the chalice-but a weakness came
Over my heart; and, taking up the lamp,
I glided to her chamber, and remov'd

The curtains for a last, a parting look
Upon my child.

* Had she but taken thee,

I could have felt she had a mother's heart,

And drain'd the chalice still. I could not leave

My babe alone in such a heartless world!

ISIDORE.

Thank God! Thank God!

BIRTH-DAY VERSES.

"The heart we have lain near before our birth is the only one that cannot forget that it has loved us."

My birthday !—Oh beloved mother!
My heart is with thee o'er the seas.

I did not think to count another

Before I wept upon thy knees

Before this scroll of absent years
Was blotted with thy streaming tears.

My own I do not care to check.

I weep-albeit here alone

PHILIP SLINGSBY.

As if I hung upon thy neck,

As if thy lips were on my own, As if this full, sad heart of mine, Were beating closely upon thine.

Four weary years! How looks she now? What light is in those tender eyes?

What trace of time has touch'd the brow

Whose look is borrow'd of the skies
That listen to her nightly prayer?

How is she changed since he was there
Who sleeps upon her heart alway-
Whose name upon her lips is worn
For whom the night seems made to pray —
For whom she wakes to pray at morn-
Whose sight is dim, whose heart-strings stir,
Who weeps these tears-to think of her!

I know not if my mother's eyes

Would find me chang'd in slighter things;

I've wandered beneath many skies,

And tasted of some bitter springs ;

And many leaves, once fair and gay,
From youth's full flower have dropp'd away-
But, as these looser leaves depart,
The lessen'd flower gets near the core,

And, when deserted quite, the heart

Takes closer what was dear of yore

And yearns to those who lov'd it first

The sunshine and the dew by which its bud was nurst.

Dear mother! dost thou love me yet?

Am I remember'd in my home?

When those I love for joy are met,

Does some one wish that I would come ?

Thou dost-I am belov'd of these!

But, as the schoolboy numbers o'er

Night after night the Pleiades,

And finds the stars he found before,

As turns the maiden oft her token,
As counts the miser aye his gold-