HERE, TAKE MY HEART.

HERE, take my heart-'twill be safe in thy keeping, While I go wand'ring o'er land and o'er sea; Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping,

What need I care, so my heart is with thee?

If, in the race we are destined to run, love,

They who have light hearts the happiest be, Then, happier still must be they who have none, love,

And that will be my case when mine is with thee.

It matters not where I may now be a rover,

I care not how many bright eyes I may see; Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her,

I'd tell her I couldn't-my heart is with thee.

And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonderFor, even should Fortune turn truant to me, Why, let her go—I've a treasure beyond her,

As long as my heart's out at int'rest with thee!

OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME

Он, call it by some better name,

For Friendship sounds too cold, While Love is now a worldly flame, Whose shrine must be of gold; And Passion, like the sun at noon, That burns o'er all he sees, Awhile as warm, will set as soon

Then, call it none of these.

Imagine something purer far,

More free from stain of clay

Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, Yet human still as they:

And if thy lip, for love like this,

No mortal word can frame,

Go, ask of angels what it is,
And call it by that name!

The pain thou'lt feel in breaking
Less bitter far will be,
Than that long, deadly aching,
This life has been to thee.

There-broken heart, farewell!

The pang is o'er

The parting pang is o'er; Thou now wilt bleed no more, Poor broken heart, farewell! No rest for thee but dying

Like waves, whose strife is past, On death's cold shore thus lying, Thou sleep'st in peace at last— Poor broken heart, farewell!

POOR BROKEN FLOWER.

POOR broken flow'r! what art can now recover thee?

Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breathIn vain the sunbeams seek

To warm that faded cheek; The dews of heav'n, that once like balm fell over thee,

Now are but tears, to weep thy early death.

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her,— Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou; In vain the smiles of all.

Like sunbeams round her fall; The only smile that could from death awaken her, That smile, alas! is gone to others now.

POOR WOUNDED HEART.

POOR wounded heart, farewell!
Thy hour of rest is come;
Thou soon wilt reach thy home,
Poor wounded heart, farewell!

THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE.

BEING weary of love,

I flew to the grove

And chose me a tree of the fairest;

Saying, "Pretty Rose-tree,

"Thou my mistress shalt be,

"And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. "For the hearts of this world are hollow "And fickle the smiles we follow "And 'tis sweet, when all "Their witch'ries pall,

"To have a pure love to fly to: "So, my pretty Rose-tree, “Thou my mistress shalt be, "And the only one now I shall sigh to."