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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!

TO ERMENGARDE.

I KNOW not if the sunshine waste-
The world is dark since thou art gone!
The hours are, oh! so leaden-paced !

The birds sing, and the stars float on,
But sing not well, and look not fair-
A weight is in the summer air,

And sadness in the sight of flowers;

And if I go where others smile,

Their love but makes me think of ours,
And heavier gets my heart the while.
Like one upon a desert isle,

I languish of the weary hours;

I never thought a life could be

So flung upon one hope, as mine, dear love, on thee!

I sit and watch the summer sky.

There comes a cloud through heaven alone; A thousand stars are shining nigh—

It feels no light, but darkles on!
Yet now it nears the lovelier moon ;

And, flushing through its fringe of snow,
There steals a rosier dye, and soon
Its bosom is one fiery glow!
The Queen of Light within it lies!
Yet mark how lovers meet to part!
The cloud already onward flies,

And shadows sink into its heart,

And (dost thou see them where thou art ?)
Fade fast, fade all those glorious dyes!

Its light, like mine, is seen no more,

And, like my own, its heart seems darker than before !

Where press this hour those fairy feet?
Where look this hour those eyes of blue?
What music in thine ear is sweet?

What odor breathes thy lattice through?
What word is on thy lip? what tone-
What look-replying to thine own?
Thy steps along the Danube stray-
Alas! it seeks an orient sea!
Thou wouldst not seem so far away
Flow'd but its waters back to me !

I bless the slowly coming moon

Because its eye look'd late in thine!

I envy the west wind of June

Whose wings will bear it up the Rhine;

The flower I press upon my brow

Were sweeter if its like perfumed thy chamber now!

THE CONFESSIONAL.

"When thou hast met with careless hearts and cold, Hearts that young love may touch, but never holdNot changeless, as the loved and left of old

Remember me-remember me

I passionately pray of thee !"

LADY E. S. WORTLEY.

I THOUGHT of thee-I thought of thee,
On ocean many a weary night—
When heaved the long and sullen sea,
With only waves and stars in sight.
We stole along by isles of balm,

We furl'd before the coming gale,
We slept amid the breathless calm,
We flew beneath the straining sail-
But thou wert lost for years to me,
And, day and night, I thought of thee!

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In France amid the gay saloon,
Where eyes as dark as eyes may be

Are many as the leaves in June-
Where life is love, and even the air

Is pregnant with impassion'd thought, And song and dance and music are

With one warm meaning only fraught

My half-snared heart broke lightly free,
And, with a blush, I thought of thee!

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Florence, where the fiery hearts
Of Italy are breathed away

In wonders of the deathless arts;
Where strays the Contadina down
Val d'Arno with a song of old;
Where clime and woman seldom frown,
And life runs over sands of gold;
I stray'd to lone Fiesolé

On many an eve, and thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Rome, when on the Palatine
Night left the Cæsars' palace free

To Time's forgetful foot and mine;
Or, on the Coliseum's wall,

When moonlight touch'd the ivied stone, Reclining, with a thought of all

That o'er this scene has come and goneThe shades of Rome would start and flee Unconsciously-I thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Vallombrosa's holy shade,
Where nobles born the friars be,

By life's rude changes humbler made.

Here Milton framed his Paradise ;

I slept within his very cell; And, as I closed my weary eyes,

I thought the cowl would fit me wellThe cloisters breathed, it seem'd to me, Of heart's-ease-but I thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Venice, on a night in June;
When, through the city of the sea,

Like dust of silver slept the moon.
Slow turn'd his oar the gondolier,

And, as the black barks glided by,
The water to my leaning ear

Bore back the lover's passing sigh-
It was no place alone to be-
I thought of thee-I thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In the Ionian isles-when straying
With wise Ulysses by the sea—

Old Homer's songs around me playing;
Or, watching the bewitch'd caique,
That o'er the star-lit waters flew,

I listen'd to the helmsman Greek,
Who sung the song that Sappho knew-
The poet's spell, the bark, the sea,
All vanish'd-as I thought of thee.

I thought of thee-I thought of thee,
In Greece-when rose the Parthenon

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