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When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, And smiles are near that once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,

My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee.

Whatever in fame's high path could waken My spirit once, is now forsaken

For thee, thee, only thee.

Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries-resting never-
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.

I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet, when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.

Like spells that naught on earth can break,
Till lips that know the charm have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

THOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are past away!
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells!
And so 'twill be when I am gone:
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT.

OFT, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,

Whose garland's dead,

And all but he departed!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

WEEP NOT FOR THOSE.

WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies.

Death chill'd the fair fountain ere sorrow had

stain'd it,

"Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unchain'd it,

To water that Eden where first was its source ! Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale,

And the garland of love was yet fresh on her brow! Oh! then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown;

And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own! Weep not for her; in her springtime she flew

To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd,

And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.

THIS World is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;

The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-

There's nothing true but Heaven!

And false the light on Glory's plume,
As fading hues of even;

And Love, and Hope, and beauty's Bloom
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb-
There's nothing bright but Heaven!

By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summon'd by a spell
From the green leaves of the wild wood,
From beside the charmed well!
For Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

The fields were cover'd over
With colours as she went;
Daisy, buttercup, and clover,
Below her footsteps bent.

Summer shed its shining store,
She was happy as she press'd them
Beneath her little feet;

She pluck'd them and caress'd them;
They were so very sweet,

They had never seem'd so sweet before,
To Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore.

How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!

It has its own romances,

And a wide, wide world have they!

A world where phantasie is king, Made all of eager dreaming,

When once grown up and tall;
Now is the time for scheming,
Then we shall do them all!

Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?

She seems like an ideal love,
The poetry of childhood shown,

And yet loved with a real love,

As if she were our own;

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