Dost thou dote on woman's brow?

Dost thou live but in her breath? March!-one hour of victory now

Wins thee woman's smile till death.

Oh, what bliss, when war is over,

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet,
And, when wreaths our temples cover,
Lay them shining at her feet!
Who would not, that hour to reach,
Breathe out life's expiring sigh,—
Proud as waves that on the beach

Lay their war-crests down, and die?

There! I see thy soul is burning—
She herself, who clasps thee so,
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning,
And, while clasping, bids thee go.
One deep sigh, to passion given,

One last glowing tear, and then-
March!-nor rest thy sword, till Heaven
Brings thee to those arms again.

THEY MET BUT ONCE.

HEY met but once, in youth's sweet hour,
And never since that day

Hath absence, time, or grief had power

To chase that dream away.

They've seen the suns of other skies,

On other shores have sought delight;
But never more, to bless their eyes,
Can come a dream so bright!
They met but once,- -a day was all

Of Love's young hopes they knew ;
And still their hearts that day recall,
As fresh as then it flew.

Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow

They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.

For, Youth, the spell was only thine;

From thee alone th' enchantment flows,
That makes the world around thee shine
With light thyself bestows.

They met but once,-oh, ne'er again
Let either meet the brow

They left so smooth and smiling then,
Or see what it is now.

THOU BIDST ME SING.

HOU bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee
In other days, ere joy had left this brow;
But think, though still unchanged the notes may be,
How diff'rent feels the heart that breathes them

now!

The rose thou wear'st to-night is still the same

We saw this morning on its stem so gay;

But, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath which came
Like life o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd away.

Since first that music touch'd thy heart and mine,
How many a joy and pain o'er both have past,-
The joy, a light too precious long to shine,

The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last.
And, though that lay would like the voice of home

Breathe o'er our ear, 't would waken now a sigh

Ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to come,
But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by.

NO, NOT MORE WELCOME.

O, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, When, half awaking from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full quire of heaven is near,— Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,

This heart long had sleeping lain,

Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again.

Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing
Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell-

Each secret winding, each inmost feeling
Of all my soul echo'd to its spell.
'Twas whisper'd balm-'twas sunshine spoken!--
I'd live years of grief and pain

To have my long sleep of sorrow broken

By such benign, blessed sounds again.

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE ?

OVE thee, dearest? love thee?

Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which through tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;

Though often dim,

With tears, like him,

Like him my truth will shine,

And-love thee, dearest? love thee?

Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, that star is not more true;

When my vows deceive thee,

He will wander too.

A cloud of night

May veil his light,

And death shall darken mine

But-leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, till death I'm thine.

THE BOY OF THE ALPS.

IGHTLY, Alpine rover,

Tread the mountains over;

Rude is the path thou'st yet to go;
Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee,
Fields of ice before thee,

While the hid torrent moans below.

Hark, the deep thunder,

Through the vales yonder!

'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast;

From rock to rock

Rebounds the shock.

But courage, boy! the danger's past.

Onward, youthful rover,

Tread the glacier over,

Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last.

On, ere light forsake thee,

Soon will dusk o'ertake thee:

O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way!

Now, for the risk prepare thee;

Safe it yet may bear thee,

Though 't will melt in morning's ray.

Hark, that dread howling!

"Tis the wolf prowling,

Scent of thy track the foe hath got;

And cliff and shore

Resound his roar.

But courage, boy,--the danger's past!

Watching eyes have found thee,

Loving arms are round thee,

Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot.