For frost had done one half life's part,

And kept them from decay:

Those they loved had mouldered, but these Looked the dead of yesterday.

Peace to the souls of the graveless dead' 'Twas an awful doom to dree;

But fearful and wondrous are thy works,
O God! in the boundless sea 1

REVENGE.

Ar, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,
And gaze upon her smile:

Seem as you drank the very air

Her breath perfumed the while;

And walk for her the gifted line,
That wild and witching lay,
And swear your heart is as a shrine,
That only owns her sway.

Tis well I am revenged at last,—

:

Mark you that scornful cheek,—

The eye averted as you passed,

Spoke more than words could speak.

Ay, now by all the bitter tears,

That I have shed for thee,

The racking doubts, the burning fears,— Avenged they well may be—

By the nights passed in sleepless care,
The days of endless wo;

All that you taught my heart to bear,
All that yourself will know.

I would not wish to see you laid
Within an early tomb;

I should forget how you betrayed,
And only weep your doom:

But this is fitting punishment-
To live and love in vain,—
O my wrung heart, be thou content,
And feed upon his pain.

Go thou and watch her lightest sigh,
Thine own it will not be;

And back beneath her sunny eye,-
It will not turn on thee.

"Tis well the rack, the chain, the wheel, Far better hadst thou proved;

Even I could almost pity feel,

For thou art not beloved.

THE NAMELESS GRAVE.

A NAMELESS grave, there is no stone
To sanctify the dead:

O'er it the willow droops alone,
With only wild flowers spread.

"O, there is naught to interest here,
No record of a name,
A trumpet-call upon the ear,
High on the roll of fame.

"I will not pause beside a tomb
Where nothing calls to mind
Aught that can brighten mortal gloom,
Or elevate mankind;—

"No glorious memory to efface

The stay of meaner clay;

No intellect whose heavenly trace

Redeemed our earth:

-away!"

Ah, these are thoughts that well may rise

On youth's ambitious pride;

But I will sit and moralize

This lowly stone beside.

Here thousands might have slept, whose name

Had been to thee a spell,

To light thy flashing eyes with flame,—
To bid thy young heart swell.

Here might have been a warrior's rest,
Some chief who bravely bled,
With waving banner, sculptured crest,
And laurel on his head.

That laurel must have had its blood, That blood have caused its tear,

Look on the lovely solitude

What! wish for warfare here!

A poet might have slept,-what! he Whose restless heart first wakes Its life-pulse into melody,

Then o'er it pines and breaks ?

He who hath sung of passionate love,
His life a feverish tale :-
O! not the nightingale, the dove
Would suit its quiet vale.

See, I have named your favorite two,-
Each had been glad to crave
Rest 'neath this turf's unbroken dew,

And such a nameless grave.

CAN YOU FORGET ME?

CAN you forget me?—I who have so cherished
The veriest trifle that was memory's link;
The roses that you gave me, although perished,
Were precious in my sight; they made me think.
You took them in their scentless beauty stooping
From the warm shelter of the garden wall;
Autumn, while into languid winter drooping,
Gave its last blossoms, opening but to fall.
Can you forget them?

Can you forget me? I am not relying

On plighted vows-alas! I know their worth: Man's faith to woman is a trifle, dying

Upon the very breath that gave it birth.

But I remember hours of quiet gladness,

When, if the heart had truth, it spoke it then,

When thoughts would sometimes take a tone of sadness, And then unconsciously grow glad again.

Can you forget them?

Can you forget me? My whole soul was blended;
At least it sought to blend itself with thine;
My life's whole purpose, winning thee, seemed ended;
Thou wert my heart's sweet home-my spirit's shrine
Can you forget me?—when the firelight burning,
Flung sudden gleams around the quiet room,
How would thy words, to long past moments turning,
Trust me with thoughts soft as the shadowy gloom!
Can you forget them?