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 birds sing, and the stars float on, And sadness in the sight of flowers; And if I go where others smile, Their love but makes me think of ours, 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! And, flushing through its fringe of snow, And shadows sink into its heart, And (dost thou see them where thou art ?) 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? What odor breathes thy lattice through? 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, We furl'd before the coming gale, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Are many as the leaves in June- 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, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, In wonders of the deathless arts; On many an eve, and thought of thee. I thought of thee-I thought of thee, To Time's forgetful foot and mine; 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, 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, Like dust of silver slept the moon. And, as the black barks glided by, Bore back the lover's passing sigh- I thought of thee-I thought of thee, Old Homer's songs around me playing; I listen'd to the helmsman Greek, I thought of thee-I thought of thee, |