How in one long deep dream of thee my nights and days have past, Surely that humble, patient love must win back love at last! "And thou wilt smile-my own, my own, shall be the sunny smile, Which brightly fell, and joyously, on all but me erewhile! No more in vain affection's thirst my weary soul shall pine Oh! years of hope deferr'd were paid by one fond glance of thine! "Thou'lt meet me with that radiant look when thou comest from the chase, For me, for me, in festal halls it shall kindle o'er thy face! Thou❜lt reck no more tho' beauty's gift mine aspect may not bless ; In thy kind eyes this deep, deep love, shall give me loveliness. "But wake! my heart within me burns, yet once more to rejoice In the sound to which it ever leap'd, the music of thy voice: Awake! I sit in solitude, that thy first look and tone, And the gladness of thine opening eyes may all be mine alone." In the still chambers of the dust, thus pour'd forth day by day, The passion of that loving dream from a troubled soul found way, Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every grace, Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely form and face. And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast, And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest, With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair behind. THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL. A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, Woman! —a power to suffer and to love, Therefore thou so canst pity, WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum 66 On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke; Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come,” So the red warriors to their captive spoke. Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone, A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; tho' from his cheek had flown The mantling crimson of the island-blood, And his press'd lips look'd marble.-Fiercely bright, And high around him, blaz'd the fires of night, Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro, As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow Lighting the victim's face :-But who could tell Of what within his secret heart befel, Known but to heaven that hour?--Perchance a thought Of his far home then so intensely wrought, That its full image, pictured to his eye On the dark ground of mortal agony, Rose clear as day!—and he might see the band, |