For on a grateful nation's breaste

Thou and this orphan babe shall reste,
While I will sit and weepe with thee;
For bleste the tears that waile the brave,
And drop upon a hero's grave.

Penwarne.

THE SYMPATHY OF LOVE.

We met—we gazed—I saw and sighed
She did not speak, and yet replied:
There are ten thousand tones and signs
We hear and see, but none defines

Involuntary sparks of thought,

Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,

And form a strange intelligence,

Alike mysterious and intense,

Which link the burning chain that binds,
Without their will, young hearts and minds;
Conveying, as the electric wire,

We know not how, the absorbing fire

I saw, and sighed-in silence wept,
And still reluctant distance kept,
Until I was made known to her,
And we might then and there confer

Without suspicion then, even then,
I longed, and was resolved to speak;
But on my lips they died again,

The accents tremulous and weak,
Until one hour. There is a game,
A frivolous and foolish play,
Wherewith we while away the day;
I have forgot the name-

It is

And we to this, it seems, were set,

By some strange chance, which I forget:

I recked not if I won or lost,

It was enough for me to be

So near to her, and oh! to see

The being whom I loved the most

I watched her as a sentinel,

(May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was,

That she was pensive, nor perceived.
Her occupation, nor was grieved.
Nor glad to lose or gain; but still
Played on for hours, as if her will
Yet bound her to the place, though not
That hers might be the winning lot.
Then through my brain the thought did
Even as a flash of lightning there,

2

That there was something in her air,
Which would not doom me to despair;
And on the thought my words broke forth,
All incoherent as they were→→→
Their eloquence was little worth.
But yet she listened 'tis enough--

Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.

I loved, and was beloved again.

THE DEATH OF HAIDEE.

VOL. II.

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermastered and cut down ;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
Thus much she viewed an instant and no more-

Her struggle ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar felled.

Byron.

D

A vein had burst-and her sweet lips' pure dyes

Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; And her head drooped as when the lily lies

O'ercharged with rain; the summoned handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes :

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy!

Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill,
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seemed absent still;
No hideous sign proclaimed her surely dead;
Corruption came not, in each mind to kill

All hope to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soul,
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chiselled, still lay there,
But fixed as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all-eternal throes,

And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

1

She woke at length-but not as sleepers wake-
Rather the dead, for life seemed something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for awhile, the Furies made a pause.

She looked on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what ;
She saw them watch her, without asking why,

And recked not who around her pillow sat; Not speechless, though she spoke not: a sigh

Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat Were tried in vain by those who served-she gave No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
Her father watched she turned her eyes away-
She recognised no being, and no spot,

However dear or cherished in their day:

They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, seemed full of fearful meaning.