The proud have sought my hand,—the high of birth Have knelt to me, as I were not of earth : But these are nothing, since they fail to move Thy heart, and gain for me thy constant love. This was the die on which I staked my all, And I, alas! have lost, and perish in thy thrall. V. "And now, to thee, thou wild and mighty Sea! That in thy restless might dost round me roll, At eventide, from that LEUCADIAN height, On sea-weed beds to rest in slumbers sweet, The boundless main her tomb, the waves her winding sheut. THE FORSAKEN. IT hath been said-for all who die There is a tear; Some pining, bleeding heart to sigh But in that hour of pain and dread, Around my humble couch and shed Who watch life's last departing ray And soothe my spirit on its way With holy prayer? What mourner round my bier will come In weeds of woe, And follow me to my long home Solemn and slow ? When lying on my clayey bed, In icy sleep, Who there by pure affection led By the pale moon implant the rose And bid it cheer my dark repose, Could I but know when I am sleeping One faithful heart would there be keeping As if some gem lay shrined beneath "Twould mitigate the pangs of death, Yes, in that hour if I could feel, And Beauty's presence one would steal In secrecy, And come and sit and weep by me In night's deep noon Oh! I would ask of memory No other boon. But ah a lonelier fate is mine, A deeper woe; From all I love in youth's sweet time Drawn round me my pale robes of white, In a dark spot To sleep through death's long, dreamless night, Lone and forgot. EMILIE. A FLORENTINE'S STORY. Ir was a summer eve in Italy, Starlight, and the full moon, and soft blue sky, So tranquil, and so pensively serene, That one might smile or weep 'mid such a scene. Along its banks gleamed out where myrtles blent And there moved one amidst that festival, |