Oh knew I the depth of that Emerald spell,

And had I the gold it brings,

I would never load with a feaster's joy

My spirit's mounting wings.

I would bind no wreath to my brow to-day, That would leave a stain to-morrow,

Nor drink a draught of joy to-night

That would change with morn to sorrow.

But, oh! I would burst this chain of forms, And be spirit and fancy-free;

For costly aid to my mind alone

Should my gold be scatter'd free.

I would place my foot on my heaps of ore

To mount to Wisdom's throne,

And buy, with the wealth of an Indian mine, To be left, of care, alone.

Ambition! my lip would laugh to scorn
Thy plume and thy gleaming sword!
I would follow sooner a woman's eye
Or a child's imperfect word;

But come with the glory of human thought,
And the light of the scholar's brow,
And my heart shall be taught forgetfulness
And alone at thy altar bow!

There was one mild eye-there was one deep tone—

They were dear to this heart of mine! Dearer to me was that mild blue eye

Than the light on Wisdom's shrine.
My soul brought up from its deepest cell
The sum of its earthly love;

But it could not buy her wing from heaven,
And she flew to her home above.

That first deep love I have taken back
In my rayless breast to hide;

With the tear it brought for a burning seal,
"Twill there forever bide.

I may stretch on now to another goal-
I may feed my thoughts of flame-
The tie is broken that kept me back,
And my mind speeds on-for fame.

But, alas! I am dreaming as if I knew
The spell of the tablet green!
I forget how like to a broken reed

Is the hope on which I lean.

There is nothing true of my idle dream

But the wreck of my early love,

And my mind is coin'd for my daily bread,
And how can it soar above?

THE BROKEN BRACELET.

'Twas broken in the gliding dance,

When thou wert in thy dream of power,

When lip and motion, smile and glance
Were lovely all-the belle's bright hour.

The light lay soft upon thy brow,

The music melted in thine ear,

And one, perchance forgotten now,

With 'wilder'd thoughts, stood musing near,

Marvelling not that links of gold

A pulse like thine had not controll'd.

'Tis midnight now-the dancers goneAnd thou in thy rich dreams asleep;

And I, awake, am gazing on

The fragments given me to keep.

I think of every glowing vein

That ran beneath these links of gold,

And wonder if a thrill of pain

Made those bright channels ever cold! With gifts like thine, I cannot think

Grief ever chill'd this broken link.

Good night! 'tis little now to thee

That in my ear thy words were spoken, And thou wilt think of them, and me,

As long as of the bracelet broken.
And thus is riven many a chain

That thou hast fasten'd but to break,
And thus thou'lt sink to sleep again,
As careless if another wake;
The only thought thy heart can rend
Is-what the fellow 'll charge to mend.

TO JULIA GRISI,

AFTER HEARING HER IN "ANNA BOLENA."

WHEN the rose is brightest,

Its bloom will soonest die; When burns the meteor brightest, "Twill vanish from the sky.

If Death but wait until delight

O'errun the heart, like wine,

And break the cup when brimming quite, I die for thou hast pour'd to-night

The last drop into mine.