: Thy beauty from the east is gone: Wert thou the star of opening youth ?— Its frank glad thoughts, its stainless truth, Of hope—and was it to express In sign how it will fade? How was thy dying-like the song, An echo flung the winds among, Or didst thou sink as stars whose light The rest shone forth the next dark night, Didst thou fade gradual from the time The first great curse was hurled, Forgotten and departed star! Who then remembers thine? Save when some mournful bard like me Dreams over beauty gone, And in the fate that waited thee, Reads what will be his own. GLENCOE. LAY by the harp, sing not that song, It is the song of other years, Thy head is pillowed on my arm, I must not weep, you must not sing It was a silent summer eve: Around us grew the graceful larch, Beneath were little cottages, Thy harp was by thee then, as now, The other, wandering 'mid the chords, Just two or three sweet chords, that seemed An echo of thy tone, The cushat's song was on the wind, And mingled with thine own. I looked upon the vale beneath. We parted; but I kept thy kiss,- Again I stood by that hill-side, The lake was covered o'er with weeds, There was no sign of corn or grass, Burnt to the dust, an ashy heap I spoke, and only my own words We met again by miracle: Thou wert another one Saved from this work of sin and death,— I was not quite alone. And then I heard the evil tale Of guilt and suffering, Till I prayed the curse of God might fall I will not think on this,-for thou Cuts through the moonlight sea. There's not a shadow in the sky, If thought were vengeance, then its thought A ceaseless fire should be, Burning by day, burning by night, Kept like a thought of thee. But I am powerless and must flee ; That e'er a time should come, When we should shun our own sweet land, And seek another home! This must not be,-yon soft moonlight Falls on my heart like balm; The waves are still, the air is hushed, Away! we seek another land Of hope, stars, flowers, sunshine I shall forget the dark green hills Of that which once was mine! THE EMERALD RING. A SUPERSTITION. It is a gem which hath the power to show If plighted lovers keep their vow or no: If faithful, it is like the leaves of spring; If faithless, like those leaves when withering. Take back again your emerald gem, There is no color in the stone; It might have graced a diadem, But now its hue and light are gone! Take back your gift, and give me mine- Ah, other lips have been on thine, My kiss is lost and sullied now! The gem is pale, the kiss forgot, And, more than either, you are changed; But my true love has altered not, My heart is broken-not estranged! |