THE VISIONARY.

I PRAY thee do not speak to me
As you are speaking now;
It brings the color to my cheek,
The shadow to my brow.

I pray thee do not look at me,
I cannot bear that gaze;
Though downcast be my eye, it still
Too much my heart betrays.

I feel the past is written there,
The past, long since gone by-
The past, where feelings, ancies, hopes,
Alike unburied lie ;-

Unburied, for their restless ghosts

Still haunt the sad domain,

And mockeries of their former selves
Come thronging back again.

But changed as I and thou art changed,
Or rather me alone,

I never had your heart-but mine,
Alas! was all your own.

O, magic of a tone and word,
Loved all too long and well,
I cannot close my heart and ear
Against their faithless spell-

I know them false, I know them vain,
And yet I listen on-

And say them to myself again,
Long after thou art gone.

I make myself my own deceit,
I know it is a dream,

But one that from my earliest youth
Has colored life's deep stream.—

Frail colors flung in vain, but yet
A thousand times more dear
Than any actual happiness

That ever brightened here.

The dear, the long, the dreaming hours
That I have passed with thee,
When thou hadst not a single thought
Of how thou wert with me-

I heard thy voice—I spoke again-
I gazed upon thy face;
And never scene of breathing life
Could leave a deeper trace,

Than all that fancy conjured up,
And made thee look and say,

Till I have loathed reality,

That chased such dream away.

Now, out upon this foolishness,
Thy heart it is not mine;

And, knowing this, how can I waste
My very soul on thine?

Alas! I have no power to choose,
Love is not at my will;

I say I must be careless, cold,
But find I love thee still.

I think upon my wasted life
And on my wasted heart,
And turn, ashamed and sorrowful,
From what will not depart.

Thy haunting influence, how it mocks

My efforts to forget!

The stamp love only seals but once
Upon my life is set.

I hear from others gentle words
I scarcely heed the while;

Listened to, but with weariness,
Forgotten with a smile.

But thine, though chance and usual words

Are treasured, as we keep

Things lovely, precious, and beloved,
Oer which we watch and weep.

I scarcely wish to see thee now,
It is too dear a joy :
It is such perfect happiness,
It must have some alloy.

I dream of no return from thee-
Enough for me to love;

I brood above my silent heart,

As o'er its nest the dove

But speak not, look not, mock me nʊt
With light and careless words;
It wounds me to the heart, it jars
My spirit's finest chords.

I'll not forget thee;-let me dream
About thee as before.

But, farewell, dearest; yes, farewell,
For we must meet no more:

THE COQUETTE.

SHE danced upon the waters,
Beneath the morning sun,
Of all old Ocean's daughters
The very fairest one.
An azure zone comprest her

Round her white and slender side,

For her gallant crew had drest her

Like a beauty and a bride.

She wore her trappings gaily,

As a lady ought to do,

And the waves which kissed her daily

Proud of their mistress grew.

They clung like lovers round her,

And bathed her airy feet;

With white foam-wreaths they bound her, To grace her, and to greet.

She cut the blue wave, scorning
Our dull and common land;
To the rosy airs of morning,
We saw her sails expand.
How graceful was their drooping
Ere the winds began to blow,
While the gay Coquette was stooping
To her clear green glass below!

How gallant was their sweeping,
While they swelled upon the air;
As the winds were in their keeping,
And they knew they were so fair'
A shower of spray before her,
A silvery wake behind,
A cloud of canvass o'er her,
She sprang before the wind.

She was so loved, the fairy,

Like a mistress or a child;
For she was so trim and airy,
So buoyant and so wild.
And though so young a rover,

She knew what life could be;
For she had wandered over
Full many a distant sea.

One night, 'twas in September,
A mist arose on high;

Not the oldest could remember

Such a dense and darkened sky: