In vain, with hints from other strains,
I woo'd this truant air to come-
As birds are taught, on eastern plains,
To lure their wilder kindred home.

In vain :—the song that Sappho gave,
In dying, to the mournful sea,
Not muter slept beneath the wave,
Than this within my memory.

At length, one morning, as I lay

In that half-waking mood, when dreams Unwillingly at last give way

To the full truth of daylight's beams,

From which had breathed, as from a shrine Of song and soul, the notes I sought — Came with its music close to mine;

And sung the long-lost measure o'er, —
Each note and word, with every tone
And look, that lent it life before,

All perfect, all again my own!

Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest
They meet again, each widow'd sound
Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest.
Of its sweet mate, till all were found.

Nor even in waking did the clue.

Thus strangely caught, escape again;

For never lark its matins knew

So well as now I knew this strain.

And oft, when memory's wondrous spell
Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower,

I sing this lady's song, and tell
The vision of that morning hour.

BOAT GLEE.

THE song that lightens our languid way
When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing,

Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay,

To whose sound through life we stray.

The beams that flash on the oar awhile,

As we row along through waves so clear, Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile That shines o'er Sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him who sees

With an eye that Feeling gave; For him there's a story in every breeze, And a picture in every wave. Then sing to lighten the languid way;When brows are glowing,

And faint with rowing;

"T is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, To whose sound through life we stray

35*

SONG

WHERE is the heart that would not give
Years of drowsy days and nights,
One little hour, like this, to live-
Full, to the brim, of life's delights?

Look, look around

This fairy ground,

With love-lights glittering o'er;

While cups that shine

With freight divine

Go coasting round its shore.

Hope is the dupe of future hours,

Memory lives in those gone by;
Ne..her can see the moment's flowers
Springing up fresh beneath the eya
Wouldst thou, or thou,

Forego what's now,
For all that Hope may say?

No-Joy's reply,

From every eye,

Is, "Live we while we may."

COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR AGAIN.

A BALLAD.

COME, play me that simple air again,
I used so to love, in life's young day,
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then
Were waken'd by that sweet lay.

The tender gloom its strain

Shed o'er the heart and brow,
Grief's shadow, without its pain -
Say where, where is it now?

But play me the well-known air once more,
For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore

We never shall see again.

Sweet air, how every note brings back

Some sunny hope, some day-dream bright,

That, shining o'er life's early track,

Fill'd ev'n its tears with light.

The new-found life that came

With love's first echo'd vow;
The fear, the bliss, the shame -

xx

Ah-where, where are they now
But, still the same loved notes prolong,
For sweet c were thus, to that old lay,
In dreams of youth and love and song.
To breathe life's hour away.

SONG.

"Tis the Vine! 't is the Vine!" said the cup-loving boy As he saw it spring bright from the earth,

And call'd the young Genii of Wit, Love, and Joy,
To witness and hallow its birth.

The fruit was full-grown, like a ruby it flamed,

Till the sunbeam that kiss'd it look'd pale: ""Tis the Vine! 't is the Vine!" ev'ry Spirit exclain'd "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!”

First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit flew While a light on the vine-leaves there broke, In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew "T was the light from his lips as he spoke. "Bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer me,” he cried, "And the fount of Wit never can fail;"

""T is the Vine! 't is the Vine!" hills and valleys reply "Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!”

Next, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to admire
Each tendril and cluster it wore,

From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire,
As made the tree tremble all o'er.

Oh, never did flow'r of the earth, sea, or sky,

Such a soul-giving odor inhale:

"I is the Vine! 't is the Vine!" all re-echo the cry, "Ilail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!”