TO ERNEST.

I KNOW it is a vain wild dream, The love for thee I've cherished;

I would, as die the tender leaves, That it with hope had perished;

But oh love dieth not with hope,
It lights her funeral pyre,
That smoulders in the ruined heart,
A slow consuming fire.

I do not ask thee e'er to take

This stricken heart of mine;

I only tell thee of its flame,
And that it all is thine :

I do not ask thee to forego

The charms that I have not, Proud wealth, and beauty's witchery, To share my lonely lot.

I have no hope in loving thee—
But oh! I ask to love,
And be the gentle guardian

To lead thy thoughts above.

Thy form is ever in my sleep,

Thy voice I ever hear

Thine is the name I breathe to Heaven

When bent in silent prayer.

MY LOVE FOR THEE.

My love for thee was not of earth,

'Twas fraught with that celestial zeal, That ne'er in coarser souls hath birth,

That none but heavenward spirits feel;

It flung around my soul a spell

That ne'er can die with earth's farewell.

It filled my mind with purer themes,

It taught me language erst unknown, Gave loftier flight to fancy's dreams,

My lute inspired with sweeter tone; And flung around my soul a spell

That ne'er can die with earth's farewell.

It shed below a holier light

Than ever sun or star hath given,

It rent the films that veiled my sight,

For ever linked my thoughts with heaven; And flung around my soul a spell

That ne'er can die with earth's farewell.

12

I'LL STILL LOVE THEE.

By day, by night, in weal or woe,
Where'er on earth my lot may be ;
In crimson climes or polar snow,
I'll still love thee.

If it be mine to dwell afar

In distant lands beyond the sea,
Where savages untutored are,

I'll still love thee.

Or in my home near thee to dwell,

A simple child of minstrelsy,

And win the world with song's sweet spell,

I'll still love thee.